Art and Poetry

POEMS.

I started writing poetry, or writing, because it kinda felt like I had to in order to stay a little bit more sane, as an outlet I guess, to put down even things that I didn’t quite understand. I also like to admire other people’s beauty and how special they are. I love reading and finding poems I can relate to, just like songs. I started writing when I was around 15 and ever since then I carry a journal with me all the time, just in case; it’s become part of my life now and I love it. Pictures & dust. (Transcript: There was love but there was also desperation and youth. So much youth. There was an enormous desire to give it all without knowing it could empty me in a second. It was unknown territory but it felt so warm and when you held me close when you traced my face, I lo...

NATURE HAS HELPED ME GET THROUGH A DARK TIME

While going through a stressful and dark time in my life I discovered that nature had a healing effect on me. I felt supported, peaceful and free while spending time in the wild – my mind went quiet, as I was noticing the details and listening to the sounds around me. I was also lucky to find my passion for nature photography during that time. In this article I would like to share my photos and poems with you. My aim is to show the healing process that occurs when we are out in the wild and inspire others to spend more time in nature and experience it in a deeper way. A growing amount of research shows that spending time in nature is very beneficial for our physical and mental health, creativity, attention etc. Even looking at images of nature reduces the amount of stress hormones in ou...

YOU ARE YOU

It’s hard to find your voice as a woman. We are told to be dainty. Told to be soft. What if we are none of those things? If we are not what the world wants us to be, then what are we? The answer is simple. We are us. We are ourselves. I have chosen to take on the battle, to challenge these old-time beliefs of women. I am currently working on a series of cliché and grotesque self-portraits using digital media. I replicated famous artists and art pieces, such as Andy Warhol and his Marilyn Monroe. I also take my own photos of myself and shape myself into monstrous creatures. I do this to show my hate for the standards we are held to and the beauty expectations that are forced upon us. The series is for a project in my college, Kentucky College of Art and Design, or KYCAD. My teacher, Kenyatt...

A DREAMER LIKE ME

A Dreamer Like Me who believes… Dreams are made up of Soft Feathers, White clouds, Blue Sky and Lots of Love, They Make Us Fly with the Wings of Hope & Desire, There is also a Hope of a Fairy Tale! A Dreamer Like Me who believes… Love is all we need, Love wins over Everything, Serve and Be Served Love! A Dreamer Like Me who lives in The Land of Dreams, A Dreamer, Like Me. Author: Anisha K. Chhetri Author Bio: *From Virginia. *Native American, Nepalese. *Freelance Photographer, Music Video Director, Editor, Script Writer. *Love Movies, Books, Music. Foodie. *Art Lover (Any Form of Art). Link to social media or website: https://www.instagram.com/anishachh/?hl=en

ME…MYSELF

I like to read, Yet don’t read books; I love to write, But unable to use heavy words; I love music, Yet an awful singer; I am a foodie, But can never taste well; I love to laugh around, Yet hide enormous tears inside; I’m having high goals, Yet carry a tedious posture; I want to live life, But struggle through every day and night;   Yes, I’m a sum of imperfect mess; But, You will fall for me, every time you’ll know me…   Author: Chandrima Mishra Email:  chandrima170516@gmail.com  Author Bio: A ragged mind, a lost soul, a deep thinker… looking for herself in this big world. Here to speak through the silence of words…penetrating your soul by it’s ecstasy. Link to w...

SEA OF BLACK

Swimming through a sea of black, memories falling through the cracks until I can barely recognize she. Anxiety seeps in replacing bones, awaiting events unknown. Grim awaits and takes a glance. Saying a rare prayer I’ll take that chance. Words like cannons pierce the deck, day-late apologies, the ship is wrecked with a pain you can’t forget. Others prance across the noir; they don’t drown, moving far. No one stops to look down to see the little spirit left that clings to thee. Divided with beings that don’t or choose not to see the magic that is she. Swimming through a sea of me. Reflections of muddy images of what was once before. As I kneel in presence far from grace, a chord struck that was never strummed before this place, rings. Swimming through a sea of black,...

WITHOUT YOU

You had a Bud Light in your hand and I had an X on mine. Our eyes met each other the second you walked through the door and in that moment I knew. Our love started in a bar but was only active in bedrooms or secrecy. My heart broke everytime I had to leave you because I always wanted more. You talked about going back home and you lit a flame inside my heart. I dreamed about going back with you and feeling the air fill my lungs like you always told me about. You blew out the flame every other weekend because you’d remind me of all of my flaws and take out your sadness on me. I always let you because I thought being sad together was better than apart. I kept a suitcase packed for the nights I needed to stay somewhere else. You always invited me back so I would never go far. I woke up t...

REMEMBERING VANKA, CLASS OF 2006

In Memory: A Girl I Once Knew “You can’t swim in a town this shallow.” I read this on her Myspace page. We were seniors in high school, about to graduate and leave home for whatever came next. In the fall, I would be a freshman at a reputable university in the same city, but based on this blurb on her social media profile, I imagine that she had her sights set further away. I had known Vanka since elementary school. When we were eight years old, she was the new girl and she sometimes wore a red jacket. We were classmates for two grades, and although we weren’t close friends, we were friendly — all kids are when they are young. I lost track of Vanka in middle school, the usual time of relegating kids into their appropriate social circles. I sorted myself in with the overachievers, in ...

STRETCHMARKS

as you trace a finger over the stretchmarks that smear your skin shame fills your heart but darling, you have lightning bolts etched in your flesh what is more powerful than that?   Author: Amelia Green Email: milliegreen10@gmail.com  Author Bio: I’m an 18 year old student turning her pain into poetry and hoping to empower both myself and other women to feel like the goddesses we are. Link to social media or website: https://www.instagram.com/a.g_poetry/

CALIFORNIA WON’T BURN THE ATLANTIC OUT OF YOU

Everything was falling apart but I didn’t care because the flowers were beautiful. I’d never been to California. The sun was giving my upper-east-coast alabaster skin a heat rash. I was covered in these raised, red splotches, but then, the sparkles on the surface of the ocean seemed infinitely more important. Why here? Why a desolate stretch of sidewalk in southern California? I knew the answer when I left home, but the texture of life changed from one coast to the other. Now, I just want to chat with the friendly faces in line at a Malibu Starbucks, watch the alleyway photoshoots and flirt with cute Mexican boys on the bus. But this wasn’t supposed to be a vacation. It’s fun to jump into a life that’s not yours and look around. Sticking the landing has always been my problem. It’s the sum...

LOVING AN ADDICT

  You’ll never know what it does to me; the same liquid that gives you courage burns my soul from the inside out like hot lava seeping through my veins. You want to ease the pain, make it better, stop feeling anything at all, so you keep drinking, keep numbing, keep punishing yourself. But you’re punishing me. Did you know the pain of loss could be felt long before a loved one is gone? Because I do. I know. Again and again and again I feel the loss when for but a moment I have dared to hope. Moments later, I have watched that hope collapse. Washed away once again by the river of addiction. You’ll never know how deep it cuts; the pain that comes with failing to save you. Failing to be enough to make you want to save yourself. I reach out, desperately wanting to feel the comfort of your...

SHE WAS DIFFERENT

  She was different. Someone who always loved a little more and laughed a little harder. Someone simple. Someone imperfect. Someone broken, but someone stronger. She was someone who hoped, someone who believed. Someone who always felt a little lost but someone who held on. Someone who lived with her dreams in her eyes and fought with her demons inside. Someone who cried to sleep but the next morning, someone who always tried. Someone who wasn’t complete but was enough because she was someone who learned to be her own hero when things got tough. She was someone who just wanted to be free. Someone who simply wanted to live. She was someone who wasn’t easy but just a magical chaos within.   Author: Swati Bansode Email: swatibansode3...

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