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Jeff Bresee Mar 26
Each time before when I had fallen, landing in the pit below,
I found upon the ground were words that I could gather up to build
a latticework of scaffolding to climb upon so I could go
back to the surface with the crowd, but every time I found that still

I’d stay close to the ledge not knowing why I didn’t walk away.
I told myself it wasn’t wise. I asked, “why don’t you ever learn?”
It seemed t’was in my blood forever, an unexplained desire to stay,
a search for reasons I could finally give up once again and turn

to take that foolish step and plunge myself back in the pit of pain
where I would sip it down as liquor, custom stilled to quench the thirst.
It had become the only way I knew to feel something again,
a custom-made handcrafted sculpture of what was to me the worst.

But somewhere in that dreaded cycle, midst the chore of gathering words
I found some until then passed over. No, t’was not at all by chance.
I knew they were those long ago while in my youth I’d onetime heard
but I had never chose to use them. They seemed foolish at a glance.

They were to me the words of fable, used to herd the crowd above,
but in my hour of desperation there was nothing else to do
and so I started sifting through them til I found the word of “love”
which left me standing, staring at it til I’d fully thought it through.

This was the word I had avoided. I felt it was so overused.
It seemed to mingle every single poem and book and tale and song,
but in that moment standing there I realized I’d been confused.
That everything I had associated it with had been wrong.

For in the pile I’d found it in were other words I’d also passed
over and I must admit, I done so all the while in fear.
Won’t ever understand it but, I finally opened up and asked
God to help me, then I stood in silence wondering if he’d hear.

But I was soon distracted for I watched these words, before my eyes,
move out from the pile where one by one they all aligned themselves
into the most poetic prose, which as I read it made me cry
and when I wiped the tears away, I looked around and found myself

atop a mountain, high above the land below, no longer near
the pit of pain. I stood there for a long time taking in the view,
and as I did the message that the words formed became very clear.
The word of “love” stood boldly in my mind and I knew what to do.

The years have now passed on ere since that time I finally changed my ways.
Would like to say I’ve never since come close unto the pit of pain
but I admit, I still go there to celebrate my darkest days
and when I’m there I stand close to the edge to look back down again.

But now each time I stand there, I no longer feel the way I did.
I’m not there to fall, but rather simply view it from the ledge above.
I guess I like the feeling I get when I walk away instead,
knowing that it’s possible… because I finally learned of love.
Lemon Black Mar 26
The leaflet reads:
“Be mindful of your desires,
be careful
where they come from
and where they’re heading.
Use drive to drive choice.
Be the one who decides
before you join in
and follow along.
Otherwise
the path to your freedom
is then walked down
bare feet and bare mind.
The good ol’ valley of yours.”
Inside your own head, own voice,
while taking a handful.
We know the details but don’t know the truth of what really runs through the head when poisons run through the veins, poisons of all sorts. The experience seems real, the calling very much so, so strong that we decide to answer, despite our reason objecting. It is its most shameful moment of losing control over a creature domesticated eons ago. The beast rushes to the electric fence only for shocks and burns, not even trying to escape, rebelling yet still yoked. How many times before it tries another path, and does the path lead only to the destination? Through seeking come findings.
Andy Denson Mar 22
change is the only constant
but being is open-hearted
& loving more.

i don’t want to be so
drunk
that i wake up in gun hill road.
home on new year’s day. 7 am.

for me, you can always reclaim a
sense of sanity
even in a time of chaos.

there are many things that
one
cannot reclaim.

why should i try?
if those things are gone…

did i need them in the
1st place?

self-worth comes back.
things get stolen.
for something
new.
This poem reflects on the tumultuous journey toward sobriety and self-discovery. It grapples with the desire for change, the fear of losing oneself, and the realization that some losses pave the way for newfound self-worth. The imagery of waking up on Gun Hill Road symbolizes moments of reckoning, while the contemplation of what is truly necessary invites readers to consider the essence of personal growth.
Kai Mar 22
It’s a deep cut
Growing into these bones
I resented before

Where I am
God is not
Deadbeat killer
Overdosed alone

Light at the end of the tunnel
Is overwhelmingly bright
Blinded on my way in
Lack of navigation

Heart is beating but
It was meant to stop
This feels really dark to post here but oh well
Yanamari Mar 21
These feelings flow inside me
Like the ebb and flow of waves
Sea levels keep on rising
As I struggle to grow as well

So constantly overflowing, overwhelmed
How can I hold it all in?
It's fire and not water that you can quell

Suddenly I'm out of breath
I'm sinking under water
Clutching at my neck -
I'm pulled deeper

Fire put out,
Lightless depths hold me closer.
My body lays in its clutches -
No will to hope at all.
All that's left is but cold embers,
No memory of a time where fires burned bright.

I open my eyes to the waters again,
Sway along with current,
Rise and fall with the tide,
Get a hang of it all,
Learn it all by hand.

But can I learn anything worth learning at all?

And I'll fail and learn from my mistakes
Try to be accountable for burdening others when I can't hold back
Waters turn turbulent, receding from my grasp,
Rising high,
Slamming its weight down, relentless,
My mind lost, struggling to find direction,
And I'm left trying to gather it all,
Water dispersed,
Pushing myself to reach out,
Rebuild the scattered pieces,
Rekindle what was snuffed out
With the little space I've scraped for it.

Where am I going with this all?

And I might be drowning,
With the enormity of that which I still struggle to grasp.
But slowly I'll learn to breathe this cold water again,
And hold on till the very end.
I used to stumble through life
My world full of strife
The thoughts inside my head
Were riddled with bloodshed
I say farewell to that person
So my mind will not worsen
I made an extreme change
It added happiness to my range
If my poems gave any indication
My depression took a forever vacation
It's hard to articulate how I feel
So I use poetry to reveal
My body positivity is hard
But I won't let it be marred
I try to be my favorite support
But I need others in my court
I put in lots of effort to be content
But sometimes I just need to vent
My outlook on my future is positive
I won't be controlled by the negative
Mam
Mammy, you’re a warrior,
You have shown such courage,
As I wrapped my arms around you, I hold back tears.
I haven’t been able to think or do too much,
I’ve been going back to when we could have helped you,

Those little death sticks must be laughing at us, they have the greatest hold, almost like a secret to never be told.

You look like yourself but I know you’re trying to break though, don’t worry mammy I do see you.
Her Mar 10
i am 28 years old
still trying to figure out
the meaning to all of this
confused on human emotion
confused on life

but

i know this familiar feeling
the feeling of being lost
of not knowing
what way is up
what way is down
what way is left
what way is 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

this time though
my self soothing is not working
not like how it use to atleast

i am not panicking
i am not jumping ship
i am not escaping
all like i normally would
in my past

no

this time is different
this time is 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
Em Mar 8
I will never
hide
my story.
perhaps
a warning,
or a precaution of what not
to do.
but frankly,
I wouldn’t change much.
It really did make me stronger.
allowed me more empathy,
let me see
into a little
bit of horror
others go through.

don’t you dare
judge scars,
be grateful
you’ve been
trusted
with their
story.
Joan Zaruba Mar 6
I am a candle
burning past hurts
craving new air
reaching to the sky
leaving a mark

I am stronger than my scars
wiser than my mistakes
more capable than my
insecurities

I can only be me
I will only burn


© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.
I wrote this poem at a vision board workshop at Magnus Veterans Foundation after making this art: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1uZvqAIXrdZwrW6fPkhN9YSVMl0Pkk_f5/view?usp=sharing
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