Featured Poetry - July, 2026

DISPLACED

By Jackie Chou

I am a doll

without a package 

no cardboard box

no plastic wraps

tied with ribbons

I come without a folded life story 

so how can you welcome me

into your crowd?

I am a plastic orphan

with tangled hair

left on a patio chair 

to fade in the sun

Where are my parents?

Where am I from?

Sometimes I feel 

like a white fairy 

unsoiled by the world 

I know nothing about you

or your cars

I could have stepped out

of a Benetton ad

with my honey skin 

But for now

I am only a girl

wielding a pen

My words 

are the only birds I own

fluttering in the wind

ABOUT JACKIE: Jackie is a neurodivergent author of poetry and flash fiction. Her story "Kiss From a Rose on the Grey" has recently been published in Spillwords.

THE HARLOT OF THE EAST

By Md. Naeem Aziz

In the hour when daylight bled into rust,

I saw a young girl dragged through the dust.

Her eyes were rain, her face full of pain,

As humanity drowned in greed and shame.

Her father was helpless with fever and debt,

Coins were borrowed as time was the fate.

Then poverty sharpened its merciless blade,

A daughter’s deal that made her a slave.

I purchased not a body that night,

But only time to stand beside her fight.

A crushing debt that broke a human life,

Turned streets and walls into chains of night.

Before the sun rose and shone,

My messenger returned with coins I owned.

The debt was paid and humanity won,

Freedom was the gift that left her reborn.

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem is based on the story of a poor family, where a teenage girl takes a loan from a powerful man in order to save her ailing father. According to the agreement, she is unable to repay the debt on time, and as a result, she is forcibly taken and pushed into prostitution as a form of repayment. A witness to her suffering intervenes upon seeing her condition and, through financial assistance, helps to free her. The poem portrays a tragic yet hopeful depiction of poverty, exploitation, human compassion, and liberation.

ABOUT MD. NAEEM: Md. Naeem Aziz is a Bangladeshi poet, author, engineer, and photographer. His literary works have gained national and international recognition. Through his writing, he explores themes of humanity, society, history, and emotion.



THE THING ABOUT MY OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER

By Rebecca Kay

The thing about my obsessive compulsive disorder,

Is I would spend hours & hours writing everything in order,

The first sign I had was tapping my foot on the floor,

Honestly, I did it so many times, it stopped feeling like a chore,

I also wanted everything to be neat & clean,

That has been my life ever since I was fourteen,

On bad times I felt like I was stuck in a sinkhole,

I just needed to do everything I could to feel in control,

Are the doors locked?

I thought I heard someone knock,

Are the windows shut?

Something just doesn’t feel right in my gut,

Are we safe? Are we safe? Are we safe?

I just wanted to send my OCD to the grave,

I needed to check everything was in an orderly line,

So I could finally rest at night time feeling fine,

Growing up in school with OCD was rough,

I would have to think ahead all the time, which I found really tough,

Being asked by the bus driver “why are you tap dancing?” was embarrassing,

I just wanted to reply “counting to 164 please leave me whilst I am focusing”,

I would return home from school absolutely exhausted,

But knowing all of my compulsions had been completed,

My hands would be raw & my lips would be chapped,

Picking at them would prevent me from feeling trapped,

I was far too nice & walked all over as a teenager,

Could that of been the trigger for my self controlling behaviour?

After moving to University,

I needed everything to go perfectly,

Why was it such a bad thing that I wanted to keep the kitchen clean & dry,

Every time I looked at the overflowing sink or bin I felt like I could cry,

I had to sit on the same seat at dinner,

I had to do this every night to feel an ounce like a winner,

Opening up to my university friends was scary & hard,

I didn’t want them to think that they had to put up their guard,

I didn’t want them to treat me differently after I told them I had OCD,

After all I was the one living with it & wanting to be free,

Accepting I needed support was a huge step in recovery,

My therapist & I worked together to help me with my uncertainty,

I found something was missing and that was a small dose of medication,

That was an immense turning point for me & my health determination,

It was by far the best decision I had ever made,

And I can now live my life & no longer feel afraid,

I am now an OCD ambassador & spreading awareness about this condition,

I feel incredibly proud & grateful I am now able to be in this position,

The thing about my obsessive compulsive disorder,

Is I can finally breathe & not look at life like it is torture.

THE MONSTER

By Bexy Louise



There’s a monster that lives inside my head,

I wish I could silence her instead.

She haunts my dreams and ignites my fears,

every time she appears I am surrounded by tears.

The tears sting my eyes,

every day I feel I’m getting closer to my demise.

She tells me I’m ugly, that I’m not worthy of love,

whatever I do I won’t ever be good enough.

She mocks my body and points out my flaws,

every day I can feel her claws.

She’s clawing deeper and deeper into my soul,

and I know ending my life is her ultimate goal.

But I won’t let this monster win,

because each day I’m fighting her by learning to love the skin I’m in,

because what she says is far from the truth,

and I have the proof — I know I’m not perfect and I don’t claim to be,

but I’m perfect at being me.

Some days it’s hard to love myself through all this pain,

but beautiful girl, you’ve got to take the sunshine with the rain.

Because after the rain comes a rainbow,

and with that rainbow your heart will reopen and glow.

So keep dancing, please don’t let the dark clouds take away your shine.

Your love is blooming in its own time,

let’s keep fighting every day,

and let our light lead the way.

So next time that monster

tries to darken your mind,

remind yourself to have courage and be kind,

by always giving yourself daily love and affection —

each day we will continue to fight this infection.

*From the collection: 'After the Rain Comes Your Rainbow.'

ABOUT THE POEM: 'The Monster' explores the exhausting reality of living with anxiety and negative self-talk — the voice that tells you you’re not enough. But it is also a poem about resilience, about choosing to fight back and learning to love yourself anyway.

ABOUT BEXY: Bexy is a poet and writer from Birmingham, UK, writing from lived experience of mental health struggles, grief, and the journey toward self-love and healing. Her debut collection, After the Rain Comes Your Rainbow, takes readers from life’s darkest storms through to hope and recovery.

INCOMING

By Carl "Papa" Palmer

daughter pops bubble wrap 

laughs as Daddy dives 

behind the couch

after his tour in Vietnam



MY ANXIETY

By Siwaphiwe Matha

It's just my anxiety

I guess

My chest tightens

Every time I try to reflect

On days where my tears would be seen as a crime

I haven't cried in a while

Maybe it's because I grew stronger

Or maybe I let my soul rot

From fear of my dreams being sold .

It's just my anxiety

I guess

I would rather see pain

That feel my heart break

So I let pain feed on my skin instead .

Steadily

I would breathe

Seeing red through the layers

But it's only my heart that would bleed .

It's just my anxiety

I guess

But it feels like an anchor

It repeats

It's a cycle

I can't seem to forget

I was labelled

"Big girl"

By my friends

So yes

I don't cry

Nor do I regret

The times where I would lock myself

In the bathroom

Sit by the floor

And tattoo my hate in my veins

But I can't forget .

It's my anxiety

I guess

That keeps me up

Keeps me tired

Keeps me seeking for comfort

In places I have never been

I am bothersome

Ain't I?

My sister told me that before

I don't mean trouble though

I just wanted to free my soul .

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem is about how anxiety consumes you and transforms your world.

ABOUT SIWAPHIWE: Siwaphiwe Matha was born in Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa in 2010. Inspired largely by artists like Billie Eilish and Zevia, she began expressing her emotions through poetry and short stories. She has only been a volunteer for an online magazine for a couple of months. 

Ttiktok: @siwaphiwematha



IN THE OCEAN'S HOLD

By Thy-Justice Amaranth Lumen

When I saw you there in such pain,

I knew you’d never be the same again.

After you were trapped in that dark cave,

And your heart you feared could not be saved.

When the waves made their way in,

You didn’t know where to begin—

To escape from the ocean’s hold,

In December,

When its waters were icy cold.

At first you stalled;

You froze in place.

But still the water closed that space.

Then you began to climb the caves walls,

You tried your best to stand up tall—

But the waves would make you fall.

And there you lost all of your faith,

You couldn’t find it in that space,

Though it could never erase

The light you once saw—

The light you couldn’t see anymore.

Now you couldn’t rise from the floor.

At first you tried to hide,

You felt the panic deep inside,

But still the waves would collide—

Tightening their hold,

Pulling you out with the tide.

And there, within the ocean wide,

You were flooded with all you’d tried

To bury deep inside—

A thousand tears no one could find,

And fears the world had left behind.

For all you were dealt, it would remind

You of when the waters were not kind.

Then somehow…

You changed your mind.

You thought it was a dream

When you couldn’t breathe,

But then the distant lights would gleam,

And slowly… you began to believe.

You felt a quiet kind of relief,

After facing all that grief.

For in those waters you had drowned,

Where you couldn’t make a sound,

Where your feet could not find ground—

And when not a soul was around…

You saw it there—

Up in the clouds.

A gleam of hope within the sky,

A light that would not pass you by.

It lifted you, you rose up high,

A truth your heart could not deny.

It gave your spirit room to fly,

And even your heart could testify—

That the storm had finally passed you by.

You stepped once more upon the sand,

Returned at last to steady land.

No longer lost beneath the sea,

But standing tall—

And finally free.

It was the ocean that made you see

That the light within me

Was always there to set you free—

To hold your heart,

Eternally.

ON THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE HEART

By David M. White

Mark how we speak: “He made me wroth,”

“She stole my calm,” “They made me small.”

Such words unbar the soul’s locked troth,

And grant another power o’er all.

Yet this is false. No mortal hand

Can kindle fire within your breast.

Feelings rise where you do stand—

Your own, not sent at man’s behest.

So when one cries, “He made me mad,”

He yields his crown, becomes the thrall.

Say rather, “Wrath in me was clad

In light of what did him befall.”

For if the grief be mine to bear,

Then mine the means to tend or still.

But if it’s his, I wait in air

Till mercy bends another’s will.

Could foes at pleasure make you shake,

You are a fort with gates unbarred.

To give such rule is to forsake

The one realm none should ever discard.

This creed, unchosen as your tongue,

Has ruled unseen since you were young.

To name it breaks no mere thought’s chain,

But strikes the root whence passions reign.

So claim your heart as your estate.

None else may rule it, small or great.

And in that claiming you shall find

The sceptre of a sovereign mind.

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem explores the psychological assumption that our feelings are caused by others, and the quiet but profound shift that occurs when we reclaim authorship of our emotional life. The poem uses a moral‑philosophical frame to illuminate the difference between reaction and sovereignty, and how naming that distinction can restore agency.

ABOUT DAVID: David M White, PhD, is a clinical psychologist in Los Angeles whose work explores emotional authorship, agency, and the inner architecture of experience. His writing blends psychological insight with poetic structure to illuminate the quiet assumptions that shape the mind.



LOSING A FRIEND. MOURNING A LOST LOVE

By Ogeh Cynthia Onuzulike

I have carried you in two different chambers of my heart.

First, as a friend who steadied me when life was trembling, 

Then, as a lover, my heart leaned toward.

You were the one who held my pain with gentle hands, 

the one who listened when my voice was thin, 

the one who made the world feel less sharp just by being near. 

I didn’t fall in love with you suddenly, 

I grew toward you, the way light grows toward an open window.

Now, I am grieving two losses at once. 

The friend who used to meet me in the quiet places, 

The lover I hoped you might become.

I miss the friend you were, 

the one who made my burdens feel lighter, 

the one who held my stories without flinching. 

I miss the man I saw in glimpses, 

the one I believed could meet me in tenderness.

Loving you felt like opening a door 

to a room I had kept locked for years. 

Letting go of you feels like closing it again, 

with a hand that trembles.

I will carry what we were, 

like a soft ache that taught me something true. 

I will remember your kindness 

without clinging to your absence. 

I will honour the tenderness we shared 

without waiting for its return.

You were a friend I loved, 

and a love I lost. 

Both truths can live in me 

without destroying me.

Thank you for what you were to me. 

Thank you for the warmth you offered. 

Thank you for the part you played 

in a season when I needed softness.



UNTITLED

By Martin Chrispine Juwa

My heart counted years in your laughter.

I learnt fatherhood grammar faster

than the voice of your mother could shout.

For three long years I wrestled against my 

fatherhood worries and fears,

while holding your small hands in mine.

I carried you through fevers and diarrhea,

I sang you lullabies during restless nights and 

smiled with you in mornings that kept us stuck together.

But now adults have built walls you will never understand

when you grow up. 

Unfortunately, I won’t be there to defend myself. 

You have not asked for this. We have, out of foolishness.

Failure weighs my face these days.

Because fathers measure success by presence. 

I tell myself I tried. But it is not enough.

That’s why anger sharpens its fangs against me 

whenever I miss your little face gazing into mine,

whenever I remember your inquisitive mind.

It is like I have died yet here I am,

stolen from your hugs.

My deepest wound is not the divorce,

but the fear of losing you while I still breath.

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem is a personal cry over the custody of my son. 

PUPPIES IN A PET SHOP ... AN ODE TO ADHD

By Ronald Garcia Orrantia

The puppy arrives confused and alone,

With all of the birds and kittens and guineapigs and rabbits

And the fish, roaches and rodents to feed the snakes

Until a whimper is heard, another lonely howl

That falls upon either deaf ears or the dismissive.

And when they recognize another kindred soul,

Of course, all they want to do is play,

Two puppies so excited that they piddle the floor

Whenever they get too engaged …

That is a need the normal don’t understand,

A connection that can never be explained …

Never to them …

One little bit of shown abnormality and they all think we’re Ed Gein …

ABOUT RONALD: Ronald Garcia Orrantia has been writing dark poetry and stories since his early teens. He has been published in NBAP Literary Magazine Fall Metal Pumpkin edition 2024, Dark Poet's Club III edition, The Corvus Review magazine Summer 2025, California Bards SoCal Anthology 2025.



SURFACE

By Ezekiel Harris

It's like we're born in the abyss

Others are born on the surface

An alarming number of us never reach the surface

Much less see the shore

Our souls are the only ones to witness the clouds

That's how we know they exist

Though we've never seen them with our own eyes

A picture of them is somehow embedded in our distant memories

Can you imagine the joy one must feel to soar amongst them

What a glorious feeling that must be

I can only imagine

I don't like being here

It's so dark that you start to think the surface doesn't even exist

How could the surface be so far away

So what is a cloud

I pray for the many who feel this way, myself included

May we reach the clouds some day

But first we must get to the surface

We ill only notice it when or if we reach it

And then the journey begins ...



THE SPRING FURNACE

By Maddi Smith-Nelson

May heat,

records cracked open

like mental health

on a relentless day.

Like bodies, 

filled with life force

from the illumination 

by the Sun.

People can just mong,

safe to sit by the rivers

that flow past 

like thoughts on a good day.

Gentle streams of enlightenment,

or torrents of thunderous insight.

Bringing change and awareness

to thoughts of wintry ice,

the icicles that stab 

at the stars in your eyes.

The reflection of the Moon,

in their planetary image.

When the dark wanders in late,

Invite rest to calm away

the thoughts that behave like entities,

unhinged wraiths that stick,

Imagine the cool velvet night

washing them away.

The light filled days, 

allowing clouds in and out,

the perfect picture emerges.

The perfect thoughts, 

waiting for you,

like they do.

Things don’t need to be perfect,

but they can be wonderful.



INVISIBLE BATTLES

By Alyssa

As I walk these streets, I often wonder what the person

passing by me is going through.

I have come to realize that many people carry invisible

battle scars that are still bleeding.

Some walk through life while still fighting battles so brutal

that “hard” feels like an understatement.

Some seem to be winning, but only because they have poured

every ounce of strength into surviving.

Others hide like frightened children, hoping someone will

come and rescue them.

But the painful truth is that these battles cannot simply be

paused, hidden, or avoided — they must be faced.

The battles come in different forms, yet each one leaves its

own kind of pain.

They will make you cry, question life, and sometimes feel

like you are losing your sanity. Most of all, they hurt —

not physically, but deeply within.

These battles are divorce, loss of a loved one, financial

instability, depression, anxiety, and so much more.

And when I understood this, I decided to become a little

kinder. Because everyone you meet is fighting a battle —

some are winning, some are losing, but all are trying to

survive.



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