Between us both we made it whole

Candice is sensational – this poem is sensational 💛



Lean in, listen, I will only say it once

the shame, prevents a repeat

I must learn, not to be the person I have

my love, I’m not the girl you think I am

I don’t know where she went

I just stepped out for a moment & everything was gone

she might have gotten old, lost her way

that’s what happened when you keep

getting in the way of yourself

i’ve been waiting years for the sun to rise

remember how I used to be such a good dancer?

it was the tempo we inherited in each others grace

we turned like sundials who responded to moonlight

it hurts to think of those times

your hands entwined in mine like forest branches

creating crowns from winter flowers

piano keys winding down, ebony and ivory shivering

as opposites tripping velvet usher of hope

connection is such a rare place to…

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Confessions – Kristiana Reed

Whisper and the Roar


I talk to myself,

no more, no less,

than anybody else

I’m sure.

I apply makeup

in the morning

for the people

in my imagination.

In regards to my first

confession, this probably

makes less sense.

What I mean is,

without it I’m invisible

to all things in

fantasy and reality;

so, I wear mascara

in case I bump

into a daydream

or a colleague.

When I’m nervous

I enjoy the taste

and texture

of my own skin.

I chew my nails

and their messy,

unmade beds

to the quick.

I grip my shoulders,

wrists and arms

to remind myself

I am real;

an open book

with a pulse,

intimidated by hands

with the intention

to close me.

I linger too long

in peoples’ hallways,

on the stairs

and in the dark corners

of my memories,

and I travel through


like a bullet train

past rolling hills

and the…

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Anthology Tuesday: PROEM for Twelve – Kindra M. Austin

I can’t wait for Twelve, Kindra M. Austin’s next collection of poetry 💛


Twelve cover


She’d often made it difficult, but I did love my mom beyond measure. Before learning she had died, I don’t believe I’d ever actually shrieked over any-fucking-thing in my life—that’s saying a lot. On 8 November, 2017, at three-something in the afternoon, the sound that erupted from my lungs and out of my mouth was utterly empty, yet it carried a weight of pain that unequivocally transcends my comprehension to this day. The woman who gave birth to me—the woman I’d admired in the face of animosity, and who I’d always defended against abusers breathed no more.

I miss my mom’s smile most of all. That genuine, life giving smile she had in spite of the shit she had to live with was…well, it was goddamned gorgeous. Her eyes, I swear, projected light when she was happy. My baby niece’s eyes have that same magic—sweet babe born just…

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Honey Eyes – Kristiana Reed



We met in November;

honey eyes

through bonfire smoke haze

I became bewitched by your gaze,

heart beating with adolescent magic.

I walked toward the fire

and into the flames.

I asked the spirits of the night

to beg you to take me;

in your arms, in your palms,

in your dripping honeyed eyes

and call me ‘Mine’.

Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English and writes. She is President of FVR Publishing, a curator on Blood into Ink, a collective member of The Whisper and the Roar & Sudden Denouement, and blogs at My Screaming Twenties. She is 24 and is enjoying the journey which is finding her voice.

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