Napowrimo.net
Today’s resource is Where to Submit, a feature of Heavy Feather Review. Updated every few months, this is a good resource for open calls for submission for journals, anthologies, chapbooks, presses, fellowships, and other poetry-related opportunities.
I want to wish upon a star and wish it all away
Angst turns into sorrow,
so much so it’s next to pain
Do the stars even listen anymore?
Or care?
Voices get lost in the darkness,
I just want to be ok
Please prove me wrong
In ernst,
begging for it
Fighting for life,
but not to live
survive
Is the answer to simply give up?
Perhaps sometimes
There is no magical hand pulling from the desperate void
Only an all engulfing blanket of darkness so heavy it’s even to breath
The force of infliction is the premise of it all,
without explanations
Wishing upon a star simply is not worth my time and most definitely not the effort
So I’ll remain buried alive in nothing,
yet crushed by everything
as if it matters
Comparison is inconsequential
as suffocation causes temporary interruptions,
sanity flees
Irrational thoughts take over then become actions
Actions that thwart efforts mistaken as good intentions
Turning to dread
Mortal heartbreak is unbearable,
yet the era does fade,
though scars remain as a bias reminder of the cruelest fate
Letting go,
moving on,
isn’t forgeting,
though at times a blank slate would be preferable
The loss of memory is most welcomed during the darkest of times
And yet,
forgiveness of those trustpassess eventually overshadows the grief that once suffocated
Light is brighter, sounds somehow cleaner, and the pins and needles eventually turn into feeling normal,
and breathing is no longer a chore
Where are my alliterations, and why are they hidden?
Unlike rhyms, these words work repetitive vibes
So where are they?
The lyric lacks its tonality without them
Oh wait! There they are!
Littles ears have big mouths,
and little hands have big eyes
Use your words
But this is my voice, I can do it myself!
Oh no! I’m growing a watermelon in my tummy!
At least it’s not worms
Mud makes pies, by the way,
only if the rocks comes out
Why does she run that way,
is her brain ok?
If it’s fun I want to do it too
but not if my dog can’t come,
he doesn’t bite hard
Uncle is a jerk,
he can’t have dogs,
cuz he lives in the big house
Shell de Toni 