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When You Lose
It’s as if you know You’re going to lose As if you’re just going Through motions And feel as if the machines Know that you wanna win That you’ll take another bet Because you’re sad depressed Or bored And you’ll just stay there and take the beating and watch It feels like they know Everyone knows while flashing all the lights. Digital Addiction All the stuff I know better But I’m digitally addicted What came right now Was never before I’m on this damn phone And can’t pull myself away from it I’m so curious about everything Every damned thing And you can’t know everything I think. Like all your thoughts from thirty years ago they came from different place. unlike ones you have now, based upon your Experience it down and be quiet and get to know myself in silence, it’s hard to do that i’ve sat on park benches and tried to understand others, by observing them, movements, strides, clothing, shapes, skin color and all but not myself, that’s a lot easier to do, and still impossible but… but to know myself, that takes time and silence and I’m addicted to alllll this stuff, sights, sound and noise coming at me and work… those 40 hours…that paycheck if I was brave I would quit it alllll and go towards the isolation road but I don’t the world has me in her clutches and rides me as she pleases and I forget it all, like a lap dance (Damion Hamilton is from St. Louis MO. His poems have appeared in Chiron Review, Poesy Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, Red Fez, The Camel Saloon and many others. He writes poetry, stories and novels. He has written several books.)
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When lightning touches the ground
Through heavy rain, drenched, I search I look within, for the strength, but I have none Its dark, grey, the mist thickens where am I? Which way? I turn, spinning around I hear unearthly sounds beckoning me. I dare not go, I try to continue, I’m lost the rain lashing against me, I can barely see. Sounds follow me, torturing me, I try to escape cold, alone and weak trembling, the evil getting closer I panic, I shake I can't escape the noise, fear grips me, the wind carrying me along in my footsteps as if trying to rescue I try to think, how to escape what is lurking behind me I try to keep moving, the atmosphere thickening, so turbulent and fierce I crawl forwards, almost choking, the sounds right behind me, I feel defeated. Someone help me. A gust of wind, like a prayer pushes me to go, run, just get out, I open my eyes and decide, not today, not this time, I will fight. The roll of thunder deafens, I stop running and turn around. I stare back into the past, everything is quiet the moment stretches through time, I stand still, suddenly unafraid The rain washing over me, I gaze upward, then lightning hits the ground! And that’s it, My mind is clear, the fear is gone, there is quiet and clarity, there is a freeness and simplicity. I decide! I refuse to be taken down! I turn my back on the past, on the sounds that follow me, on the memories that held me prisoner, (Michelle has been writing for many years, and has had her poetry published in several magazines. She is inspired by nature, the earth, people, experiences and her own struggles with mental health and chronic illness) Finally having confidence
Sometimes I can be mentally ill I am not always that sorry Complex PTSD holds me in its tight cage Sometimes I do things that to others might appear strange I have endured both cruelty and stigma I have been called a psycho, a sideshow freak and much worse Deliberate, premeditated torture I have endured Making me feel incomplete and cursed But now a change within my view of myself has altered For I rather love my brain despite this being so It being incredible in its scope to produce Creativity, empathy, intelligence and truth I harbour now an alternate view Some have tried in vain to destroy my mind, to eradicate Any semblance of self worth My whole self I now fully appreciate Which is ironic in their cruel teaching of hate Which is the lesson that i have learnt They sought to tarnish, for me to get burnt I am not complacent or saying i do not want to heal or completely alter But I can accept what is now in the present and hereafter. (Anna Johnson has always been fascinated by words, having a love for Literature; which she has studied to Degree level. She has worked in numerous Libraries and is currently studying with the Writers Bureau, Anna has two Chronic Illnesses and C-PTSD and finds writing therapeutic, especially when about those topics) The Curve
so all that’s left is the curve of the wind up the swing the horn section the girl her first day on the ice her red ear the surgeon’s needle at rest the bone after the lamb chop after all that gnawing in school, in jail, in cars, in bed don’t recognize that sound it ain’t rats for darn sure the gnawing on bones that'll never be straight nothing is straight the curse the score big bangs measured by petty clerks I want more. Doubt and Guilt Two friends, Doubt and Guilt, went out in the sunshine to play a little catch a little pepper hey, batter If I had none like some people have no headaches, or even if it were surgically removed by well-intentioned medics who hadn’t thought very far ahead, I have none that the result would be the same: to freely tease, wallop, bed & board, run roughshod over like Banshees the wives of all my friends, say, werewolf in the outer-limits of 170 x 210 cm a raft on the Mississippi of my libido, my God-given instinct shooting up into space, to light the gray sky of France in November easily ten to twenty if not more and then and then the rot would set in I'd be finished, consumed by sin because there is no future without my two friends. (E. Martin Pedersen, originally from San Francisco, has lived for over 35 years in eastern Sicily where he teaches English at the local university. His poetry has appeared most recently in Ginosko Literary Journal, Abstract Magazine, Neologism Poetry Journal, Poesis, Thirteen Myna Birds. Martin is an alum of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. He blogs at: emartinpedersenwriter.blogspot.it) Decision to Heal
There’s a pain that comes With knowing that the past That you’ve stuffed in a box Under your bed Has turned into a monster That screams faintly in the dark When you’re hiding under the covers But one day you may decide To open the box And release the contents in the lake While you watch the pain Float away Empty Part of her feels empty. Empty, like the space between you and her. You sit on a wicker chair looking her up and down, to try and find the lost girl in front of you that you can’t see. She grows every second, but she isn’t there. You still can’t find her. A magic trick before your eyes. (Sarah Losner is an aspiring writer from Long Island, NY. She suffers from an eating disorder and depression and is passionate about breaking down stigma around mental illness. When she is not writing poems or short stories, Sarah works as an accountant at a nonprofit in New York City.) |
The Beautiful Space-
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