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The Imperfect Present

Cold toes are a symptom of poor circulation by Christina Ellison (Texas, 23)

7/27/2023

 
but I was also told they act as an open door
for ghosts to possess you. That must be why
I can’t stop shaking and I’ve stopped eating
and I hardly leave my room, where it’s coldest.

That must be why, when I do leave,
I drift from room to room, through doors,
through walls, through floors, through time
— it doesn’t make a difference. That must be
why nothing makes a difference.

Read More

Justice is a Woman by Mia Scattergood (United Kingdom, 18)

7/17/2023

 
​Justice is a woman.

Here is how you make her.
Soil her with gold body paint,
Fill her hand with a sword
Stand her above
So you can look underneath.
Tell her to be blind, and still.
An artefact.

Justice is a woman.

Make sure that when a girl stands at her feet.
Palms holding what is left.
And tells Justice of lip gloss
Sticky, smeared.
Of his twisted knife

Read More

Man Made by Marie Kynd (Utah, 24)

7/15/2023

 
                                                                      Is a woman man   made? 
                                                                  What was woman before man? 
                                                                    Did she have reason to get mad? 
                                                           Did she cry until it hurt? 
                                                       Did she ever wonder, who       it 
                                            Was she served? Who was   she? 
                                           Or                  who could she be? 
                                                                      Do women still 
                                                                                    wonder? 
                                                                                             No. 
                                                                                            Yes? 
​

Read More

Time Runs Out by Madisen Bellon (Pennsylvania, 26)

7/14/2023

 
I find myself looking up at the skies’
pearlescent cotton ball clouds waltzing
slow and steady, lazing along riding
wind currents. Birds are snaking through cloud-capes
twirling around. Free, with no concept
of time. But do they know deep down in their
bird brains that every second of life
beautiful life, love, nature, all of it
are temporary things that surround us
in our lives, but not in our deaths. We have
so little time to live, no time to think
about what comes next. The timer ticks…ticks
away every day. What can I do
before I run out of time? What can I--


​
Madisen Bellon is a poet and fiction writer. She is the founder and Editor in Chief for Cosmic Daffodil Journal. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, birdwatching, and playing video games. ​

Mother’s Rib by Lachlan Chu (California, 17)

7/11/2023

 
When I give birth they’ll serve him to me,
I’ll touch him, and when the skins

connect I’ll feel his pulse. Maybe
another cord will replace the umbilical

and eventually I’ll learn to walk him
with puppet fingers, sticks to adjust

the hands and feet, to prevent collapse.
Maybe, when I dress him in my glasses,

scored lenses from looking at the world,
the blurring will break his newborn eyes,

Read More

Hidden Treasure by Malena Mayell (Oregon, 17)

7/10/2023

 
I think of love as the way one unspools a ball of yarn
or diligently untangles a knot before threading the needle
and sewing anew. I think of love as the pocket on the
inside of one’s winter coat; hidden from view but blooming
with secrets. I think of the nickel you hadn’t known was
there, that you unearthed because you sensed that there was
more to the coat than its water-resistant nylon. I think of
floating, but so does everyone, not the dread palpitating in
your chest cavity when you feel that you have something

Read More

GRIEF AS GIRLHOOD by Rose McCoy (West Virginia)

7/4/2023

 
i got my insatiable grief from my father
and learned to mourn like a dove by my mother
it is a gift of elephantine proportions
               (runs through our veins like a snake)
                         passing down from the old groups to new ones
                                   living in the girls that soon grow into women
                         pooling in their Mary Jane shoes
               (and it looks like this)
you are twelve and bleeding for the first time
you forgot to change the pad and so you’ve smelled of blood for days
the stench of being woman                strong;
                                                                       you cannot scrub it off

in the days that follow you are filled with nervous fervor
you cry for the loss of your self and an angel appears
it says ‘i’m sorry--
                                   we thought you’d ordered
                                   womanhood’
and you say ‘it’s okay--
                                   it’s all part of the
                                   American dream’
​


Rose McCoy (she/her) is a poet and writer from Morgantown, West Virginia. She often writes on themes of love, loss, and other things that hit her in the heart. She has been published by Graphic Violence Lit, Free Spirit Publishing, Cathartic Youth Lit, and Bullshit Lit, and her debut chapbook, Sink or Swim: Reflections on an Ending, was published through Bottlecap Press in April. When not writing, she can probably be found screaming into the void as she has an existential crisis. Writing updates can be found on her Twitter @24hrmccoy.

My Ex's Evangelical Mother's Perspective of Womanhood by Lauren Elise Fisher (Connecticut, 22)

7/3/2023

 
We make space for grief and gratitude.

A simple motif: Men do brood
in disbelief when we snap back with attitude.
He may be deadbeat, but you shouldn't be shrewd!
(He needs a debrief every time you’re rude)

Grief.
Almost a religious belief, We exude
expectations before giving in to “when/if”.
(The feelings We exclude to keep our belief…)

Gratitude.
I accrued it quietly in brief
moments imbued with relief
of what it takes to kill a dream.



Lauren Elise Fisher is a stage manager and writer based out of Bridgeport, CT. She holds a B.A. in theatre studies from the University of Connecticut where she studied stage management, performance, and puppetry. Her most recent publication, "Moving Forward" may be found in CultureCult's Spring Offensive anthology (April, 2023). Keep up with Lauren on Instagram and Twitter: @AllFishSwim. ​

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