what is this thing called life? So fleeting is this thing called life, we journey toward its end…—Avi Fleischer. once i was a child, innocent & delicate & frolicsome / building sandcastles in the full burst of sun / & all i knew was a world, a circus of laughter / where sweet dreams tour…
Read MoreAl-Laban by Anthony Salandy
Yima* tells me I must break my fastWith shrivelled dates and soured milk (I long for sweet fruits to disturb my insulin) Grandma tells me I should think notOf religion for compliance is weak (My classmates belittle me for my faith) I hide in large hallsWhere ancient scriptures judge me (Whilst others yell ‘infidel!, sinner!,…
Read MoreJust by Adeola Sheehy
Just because the bruises aren’t there doesn’t mean your hands don’t hurtJust because words are your weapons doesn’t mean the wounds don’t cut deepJust because I didn’t scream no doesn’t mean I didn’t fight backJust because I am your love doesn’t mean I deserve your hateI wish I was small, pale and fragileI wish the…
Read MoreThe House was A Mess and So Was I by Lindsay Young
My father is an infinite house, bleeding A safety always changing shape. I love Him deliberate and patiently. He is full Of shit and I adore him. I call him mine And mean it. But never without guilt Everything he owns, he has broken • I have loved what has been broken By him. Been…
Read MoreHow I Grieve a Body by Daniel Ajayi
In this house are nameless shadows avowed by their unused existence. A house with an open-mouthed door wheezed into by the bellows of time. The curtain is a borderline gloom for theblue moon. The plates, the coolers and big pots are nothing but grieving of the lights. There aremeanings so significant that we are nothing…
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2 poems by Mayah Lovell
Illustration by @iggdeh black body as a sexual tool power between dichotomy leave me no more wax dripping from back water falls off head ricochets candelabra a sound like sshhhhhhh why make it make me stay here the right side of my back my lower back (it is clumped heavy with wax) my nipples drag hard…
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(Issue 6) Poetry Feature: Taj Burroughs
Photography by Joana Meurkens Interview by Carolina Meurkens Taj E. M. Burroughs (he/him/his) is a Black queer actor, writer and all-around artist from Queens, New York. He is currently receiving his BFA in acting from Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers University. Taj recently was a part of AYE DEFY’S reading of Model…
Read MoreMariposa by Erin Powell
The pain in my spine holds Foundation for my wings I have come too far in This storm to die by rain Erin Powell is a data analyst by day, and dancing queen at night. She is based in Chicago, find her on IG @eskypowell.
Read MoreThe maybe maze by Shiksha Dheda
She left my medicine on the kitchen table. She left my medicine in the same packaging that she bought it in. The same packaging that everyone outside touched. Maybe they sneezed on it. Maybe they coughed on it. Maybe they spoke over it. Maybe they didn’t wash their hands when they came from the toilet…
Read Morethe ritual of names by Ololade Edun
father does not like calling my name; he says it’s too long;& it sounds like boredom & sometimes like grief; & it makes his jaw hurt & he hates everything; & every time he tries to stress them properly, he bites his tongue & chew on his cheeks. so, i go about bearing it all;…
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