Maybe I like being haunted sometimes
Peace isn’t always the most capturing story to tell There’s something about spilling your demons Pouring them on paper, further away from you Where they can’t touch you
Sharing them with others
Thinking they might play well together Amy Shankle is based in Bakersfield, California. She is currently studying English and works as a freelance copyeditor. She regularly writes poetry surrounding her own struggles with anxiety and depression a
We use it to tell our bodies what to do Raise our heads, wash our hands move our limbs any direction we need to. lie or sit, or kneel, or stand. There are so many pieces at work Dry our eyes, clean our face from wiggling toes to a grinning smirk.
make the tears disappear without a trace. Sensors signal nerves to stand on alert Arrange our mouths into a flashy smile decide whether to assert or divert.
stash away the hurt for a little while. Make a choice to
in this broken avenue
my heart sleeps for peace
feeling the asphalt that was just wet: my body becomes a tumor. for this fixed linoleum flooring my breath heaves—dry. ruining silence by a broken picture frame my soul yearns to be a sweet wind. Sleeping.
Sleeps. Jan Franz M. was born and raised in Caloocan, Philippines. He graduated from the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, Manila wit
Photograph by Sheila Fitzgerald Grew weary of speaking in universals
Couldn't finish my work when selection of the perfect phrase took eons Attached my business card with sixty peerage titles in half-point font With unlimited time and infinite resources
I could manage the waste of these importuned forces Grew weary of abattoirs and people behind bars
And too many laws and not enough peace and this side that side can't side me
The engine room of the world laid bare, with i
Waking up to a new dawn, a sense of forlorn settles. The day goes by, in a blur of mindless noise and senseless sound. Anything and everything is a reminiscence of a happier time.
Time which should've stayed frozen and never gone by. While the day keeps sanity in check,
nights haunt the memories made. For every thought of learning to move on,
a tear and another is shed. Waking up again, it is all a cycle. Each memory a stab in the heart,
the feeling that of a dagger twist