My fingers curve gently, nestled where the heartbeat hides mouth bore hush of deep sutures — silence condensed destitute shape Did you know? Symmetrical scarring.
Jesus is my shadow Not seen or heard Lingering close behind me His presence is cold and washes over me Says my devoted followers They
I am the city that burned and still built bridges, the city that learned to rise brighter from its ruins. Don’t let me fall again
You should never compare yourself to others because your journey is your own. You don’t have to have friends come with you. You can make
I am a child I know I am My skin is wrinkled Warped The shoddy sewing evident As the withered yarn barely holds me
Dear Atlanta, I love the way you move I love the way you change and adapt I love the way you are accepting of all
Bloodstain blood disobeys All else can be cleaned, vacuumed, or swept away, but Blood stays It stains the skin of our children And they
In the shade of what’s good and right slain by the beast, I have learned to crawl. My books, they’ve been snatched from my
Content Warning: This poem contains discussion of self harm, suicide, and mental health challenges, which may be distressing or triggering for some readers. VOX ATL
Stolen land, stolen labor, unreturned favors Like flies they swarm, like maggots they feed, But we are all people, bold and brave – beautiful and
To burn I wrote this poem to burn — for the heavens to taste take my soul, a light — a match — and scatter
Hi, My Name is Reagan Hudson, and I love to eat I know I’m pretty small Six point two nine inches tall So while I
