dear girls,
it is okay to be single
to not depend on
anyone but
yourself--
if you love someone then
love them with your
heart
don't be a notch in someone's bed
post or for popularity
you won't be happy
until you true to your own heart--
you are the master of your
own destiny
you are the only one with the power
to make yourself happy
so choose the path
that fits you
don't make yourself fit a path
that is not yours.


Author Bio:
Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. Recently her two chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013) and Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014) were published. Her fantasy novel Blood & Magic was published in March 2015.

The first thing I saw this morning
When I opened the window
Was a blue and orange butterfly 
Waving in the sun -
Between the well and the laurel tree.

On the sidewalk,
Two damsels strutted together;
A turquoise skirt the one wore
A chocolate T-shirt the other.
Pleased, no doubt, they were together;
For the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air
Like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did the window
Show today,
No mountain range in the distance;
All I could see was a laughing sidewalk
And a sunny spot in the garden.


Author Bio:
Lazhar Bouazzi holds a Ph.D from the University of Tunis in Tunisia. He specializes in English Romantic Poetry and Modern Critical Theory. He is a former soccer player (attacking midfielder) and basketball player (point guard) and played both soccer and basketball for "L'avenir sportif de Kasserine" in Tunisia. 

When you lose track of where you are in space,
            the air spins, the nature of light alters. 
                        An unseen presence takes you under its
wing, whispers in your ear, explaining all
            about disasters is right, for like death,
                        tragedy is the only reason we
pause and look at one another.   I saw
            your eyes sliding among the crowd for a
                        person to talk to, yet you chose no one,
instead walked through the door, the only face
            free of attachments though you probably
                        felt lonely.  Now, I can’t see your body
but hear your voice, can’t touch you but forgive
            those words you spoke, trading our secrets like
                        currency in a dry economy.
I’m grateful for your protection while I
            had it, now relieved to be released from
                        the habits and obligations of love.
 
 
Author Bio:
Sandra Kolankiewicz's poems and fiction have appeared widely. Turning Inside Out is available from Black Lawrence Press. This past fall, Finishing Line released The Way You Will Go. In March, When I Fell, a novel with 76 illustrations, was released by Web-e-Books. 

As we should be
Perfect and
Conditioned by God’s design
Destined for a oneness
Bonded to one another
With God at the center
Fittingly impeccable as companions
Authentically tied to one another
For now
And for eternity


Author Bio:
Sonya was born and raised in Brunswick, Georgia and relocated to North Georgia twelve years ago. She is also an author, poet, blogger, and she holds a Masters of Arts in Human Services with a focus in Addictions and Recovery and a Bachelors in Business Management both from Liberty University. She is currently preparing to pursue her certificate in DV advocacy to strengthen obtain the necessary skills to work closely with abuse victims and law officials. She is working on her sophomore book titled "Perfectly Imperfect" which is a dedication to abuse victims. The funds for backing this project was collected through donations which are being invested into the project and community. The book is due to release in late Fall early Winter 2015. Sonya is the author of the book “Heaven Rain On Me..” and creator and blogger for “Darkskinisbeautiful: Life’s Journey” Blog. Through her talent of poetic therapy she strives to heal and rebuild brokenness in those who have been abused, one step at a time. 

Sonya is an aspiring advocate for domestic violence victims and future counselor focused on mending brokenness and improving relationships, she is on the path to building her dream of rebuilding, encouraging emotional, spiritual, and psychological growth through humble and natural works through God unanimously. Her theory is that Brokenness is worldwide. Pain is felt everywhere and healing must begin somewhere, and she shares that “it should start with us…. Putting us one person closer to healing all over the world”….

More about Sonya Alise McKinzie visit: https://darkskinisbeautiful.wordpress.com/about/ 

There’s a simple truth all know:
Yer wanna reap? Yer gotta sow.
 
Boet[3]... the more yer sow, the more yer reap –
the crop’s ginne be a lekker[4] heap.

Yer life, ole thing, is like a field.
The seeds yer sow will be its yield.
Plant today... reap ahead
For harvest time be well prepared.

In strictest confidence, ole mate,
You can’t jus’ leave yer life to fate!
Aikona[5], bru[6], yer laboured so!
‘Spect to get beans from peas? Oh no!
Yer ginne reap that which yer sow.

We fought for peace, used violent ways
We sowed mean seeds in them thar days.
A paradoxic’ way to peace –
Ahead... a harvest that must cease!

We sang for peace. They still resound
Heart-rending songs, quite profound.
And now we have to do our thang[7] –
Promote the peace of which we sang.
Oh, fellow countrymen of woe
We can’t reap peace from war, you know.

Feed the hungry, sow for sure;
Riotously help the poor.
That way you’ll be sowing love
Your harvest will come from Up Above.
And they that sow in tears, He said
Shall reap in joy, His love instead.

Our land is home to many a state
There’s cringing fear, there’s vicious hate.
Go on... determine where to be
You gotta sow if you wanna be free.

_______
[3] Brother
[4] Nice (Afrikaans)
[5] Not on your life!
[6] Male friend
[7] Colloquial - thing 


Author Bio:
Natisha Parsons started writing when she was a little girl, tutored by her ex-teacher mother. She went on to tutor her younger siblings. Her first publication was a story about a class hike up Mount Currie Mountain, Kokstad, when she was at high school there. She sent it to the children’s club, Uncle Bill – Sunday Tribune (Durban) – when she was fourteen years old. That motivated her to become a writer one day.
Her writing has a Christian worldview; she has a passion for her country and its people, and is interested in her culture-grounded bi-racial roots: European (British and German) and isiXhosa. She, however, follows the general South African Bible-based Christian-style culture. (Love ‘em all but trust in God.)

She became a school teacher and is now retired. She likes to say that when she was young and foolish she taught school; now she’s older and wiser, she lives a laid back life, writing and reading. Most of her books are of a spiritual nature: beginner books for young Christians (non-fiction). She has a few published short stories and a poem.

they are frozen on hallway walls, photo
frames to step into:
Teacher, Writer
Mother, Wife

but how can I be anything when
I can’t get out 
of bed
to use the bathroom sink

these blankets, they are another type of skin.

maybe I like the sour-sweet pocket
under my tongue
tasting of last night’s dessert maybe
I like spongy marbles in my mouth 
for teeth.

​
Author Bio:
Erica McKeen is a Canadian writer of fiction, poetry, and experimental works based in London, Ontario. She has recently ditched the university life to focus on her writing and the betterment of her mental health. She has a particular interest, in both her reading and writing, in the topics of feminism, insanity, and horror. Her fiction and poetry have been published in The Quilliad, This Dark Matter, Nom de Plume, and issues four and five of Occasus. Visit her blog on mental illness and living the creative life at www.ambertypewriter.wordpress.com. 

​How does it feel to be the capturer
of time and rarely the one etched?

I know your intentions aren’t to hide
behind the glass. But your eyes always look
through one way and never the other.

Having the ability to open
a box and sift through paper. It’s a gift.
Or weaving a story in my head as 
my fingers glide across the album. Yes.

Where is your existence? Tell me. Is it
veiled inside your weapon? Immortalize 
yourself on paper, photographer.
If I would’ve taken it from you, 
at least I could look back and see your face.


Author Bio:
Emily Walling’s work can be found in journals such as The Gateway Review, Apeiron Review, The Caribbean Writer, Cactus Heart, and upcoming in The MacGuffin and Riding Light Review. Her creative work is about the physical, emotional, and psychological connections people have with nature. She graduated from Bowling Green State University with a bachelor’s degree in journalism and continues to work in higher education.

Destroyed longing
To locate in the mind
Is an answer grasped;
A port, a lighthouse.
The green leaves go out of focus
Moving as a shining organism
Through the open window
That is neither clean nor proper.
The wind is a bunch of plastic bags
Rippling and crinkling
Jelly fish—refracting,
Tremendous,
It is hot on the eyes and
Perfect in that.
Slide down on the ground
To think of that too, the dirt
On the skin cells. When rubbed off,
Cool and damp residue lingers
Like dirty feet on shores--
Just don’t wear shoes.
Just don’t get up and the
Sky is the right thing to look at:
Not a concave case or a lens or a reflection.
It may be cloudy or more gray
Than blue, but it is completely blank,
The closest to easy meditation,
To half-cocked Center, to some Buddha
Or whoever. To look is a neck elongated
A spine angled and the skin follows,
And maybe the mouth is open. It is
Wonderment.
That is the production.
 
 
Author Bio:
Chelsea Grinstead is not concerned with where she ends up. God is her bread and butter. She graduated from University of Florida with a bachelor’s in journalism. She loves sunshine, reading, writing, yoga, and politics. She wants to go back to UF or maybe travel. She would love to be a missionary working in the developing world—but she wouldn’t mind being on bestseller lists either. To her, each day is a gift and an opportunity to be spiritual, being in oneness with God and truly connecting with people on that level. Poetry is how her mind works and is a natural way she expresses herself. When she reads others’ poetry, the pain or sorrow inside her is translated to endless beauty. Poetry is her land.