The imperfection & the wonder ~ Candice Daquin


What would it look like to be someone else?

who did not wake up red-eyed and fearful?

what would it feel like to be held and words said & meant

to be turned gently in the measure of another’s gaze

would it feel good or unnatural?

by now, like an ill-planted tree, I have bent at an angle to accommodate

the lack

It may be, I don’t want the dream anymore

but something that keeps cold from the hole in my side

so when you tell me

don’t fall in love with me, I am imperfect

so much is wrong with me, if only you knew

if you saw the real me, you would be scared off

when you tell me

the first time I saw you, I was in awe

I couldn’t reveal how much I liked you with nothing to offer in return

I ask you to consider this

I am a tree growing at an angle

because nobody bothered to set me straight and tall

in more ways than one I am bent

and crooked, slightly deformed and full of holes

that let in the cold

sometimes I am a woman who looks in the mirror and sees

every cruel word inscribed on her face

like inch worms or tattooists needle cutting off circulation

every betrayal, a brand burning my attempts

every lie, a drowning, of my ability to breathe

other days I am a girl who runs

for buses in heals and mini skirts

and the boys they shout after that person

because she is a parody and an apparition

as much as she is flesh and blood and nobody they’d want

but I’m the same no matter what mask I choose

I’m the girl who cries and then answers the door smiling

I’m the girl who has become so good at hiding

she hasn’t been found in a very long time

I give far more than I take

because I don’t know how to feel worthy either

so believe me when I say

I know your fear and part of why

you shy away from me, even as your eyes say

oh how I would like to spend a day a night

laughing and smiling in your company

but I am not a cult leader

I can’t convince you, you have to see it for yourself

I am a simple person flayed by life, other people and winter wind

cutting through our best intentions

I try to be grateful, mindful, all the things

we’re told to be

but just as often as I succeed, I fail

I wasn’t built for battles, I don’t know how

to compete the way others do

and if you think I won’t like you because

of any number of funny things


they’re just things and any moment

they could be gone as we could

because life comes and snatches back

just when you think you have time

but what is left

what remains when the table is cleared

are two people

with suitcases of fear pouring out

we are sitting as the light fades in surround

talking despite ourselves

for some part of each of us, wants the other

recognizes a connection

and knows

the only way in this life is to risk all or none

there are no in-betweens

you cannot find love by wishing or digging

both of us have been burned and stung and hammered

by the lies of people and trust is a faraway concept

but until they switch us off and we lay fallow

impregnating earth with our dissolve

I say we try for our chance, however long we’ve got

not let the fear put us off

even as you swore you’d never again

even as I promised I wouldn’t go there

somehow here we sit

staring at the other

seeing everything we want

in the imperfection and

the wonder

This too shall pass- Sabrina Escorcio


This too shall pass

This too shall pass

on these, my worst days

when scarlet blood memories
dry thick over wax mesh minutes
oxidized words once shouted
now whisper healing remedies
furtive broken flesh tilled like soil
rebirth coagulating thoughts
that stick mercilessly to old wounds
soft flesh blooms through death
this, self inflicted treatment
becomes consolation, prized
as I attempt redemption
tearing off bandages too quickly
to avoid more pain

this too shall pass

this too shall pass

She grew up with a love for nature, the dramatic arts, music, as well as books and literature. After years of journaling Sabrina came to know poetry, as an adult this became an avenue of self-expression during a time of personal strife.

This hunger for poetry was insatiable, leading her to scour second hand book stores for more inspiration. There she found classic authors such as Percy Shelley, Tennyson, and Sylvia Plath, as well as many obscure poets; She began to transform her journaling into the realm of confessional poetry.

One of her favourite pieces is titled “Dark Pines Under Water” written by the Canadian poet Gwendolyn Mac Ewen. Sabrina hopes to feature her poetry in print one day, she can be found on WordPress at Una Zingara, Tumblr at MyCrumpledNotebook, as well as Instagram as una_zingara.

Torn- Austin M. Ely


I am torn

So very torn

Between the seams

of fate

It seems too late

For me to suture the wounds

I sustained

As I sip this concoction

From a shot glass

As it numbs the pain-


I go far away

In order to tame myself

To become the man

I once was

So I strip the self

For I am to blame

For who I am

I take no regard

Regardless of the cards

Because I never fold

Letting go of the worst

Watching the pain

Wash away first

Is the greatest feeling

The best story

I have ever told

That of a torn soul

Searching for answers

On an endless road


Image courtesy of Pixabay

A poet based out of the city of Wilkes Barre, Northeast Pennsylvania. At the age of 13 he began writing poetry and short stories in a foster home in order to express what he couldn’t. Through the years, now at the age of 21, he has always sought to personally develop his word play as well as inspire those who read his work to perceive themselves through and to the world. He has dubbed himself a “modernai literary” which is a title prescribed by his generation in order to distinguish himself and his writing.

His blog, which can be seen at houses much of his works for any and everyone to read.