Collected Poems of March


By IR Belletti | @oriorwriter_

Girls kick guys in the balls and guys bleed for the first time. I think about the girl I love & about her crushing some jock's face

and suddenly I want her to be president of the United States and then fuck me. Is there a god, she asks me?

I say that if there was she'd be already dead;

nobody that raw & flashy & witty passes the age of 20 without playing their toll.

A woman like that is a threat to him.

And girls smash the ballots and win the Congress,

and from another country chills come up my sleeves when they say Floyd's name.

My girl is in there. My girl with the pale morning face and the curls, the football player

she's there among you,

with her mask on and the gloves and her mom telling her to watch out.

But she kicks and she fights and runs from tear gas and comes home crying and

her enemy loses.

Poem Written While Imagining I’m Riding the Green Line or I Turn

Twenty on Friday

by Clara Livingston | @clara.livingston

let's try this again:

coffee, tattoos

the fancy version of seventy-nine cent dinner.

silk slip, curled hair,

Gonna get cold in a dress like that.

Well, it's a special occasion.

I'm riding the T and worrying

about a lot of things:

the future.

the government.

climate change.

my cat.

I guess I am ready for this year in the sense that someone

who drives a dilapidated 1998 Audi

with no radio

looks forward to a car crash.

Maybe that’s morbid.

Maybe I don’t know anything about cars or crashes or metaphors.

I don’t even know how to drive.

I see myself in summer, passenger seat,


I want to know

the hand of the girl who I am holding,

can wipe away my tears, squeeze me tight, steer us clear of collisions.

I talked to a therapist for the first time in my life this week.

While counting down on one hand my last couple minutes of nineteen.

I say I am excited because I will be able to put into poems

"that's what my therapist said"

which is cheesy

but it's fun.

I think about politics

about chicken noodle soup

I think about birthdays

And about starting over

Which is kind of what this is,right?

Even though all you've done is kept going?

I turn twenty on Friday.

Let's try this again.


by Carrie Aubin | @carrie.a18

walking on pins and needles

over glass coated fire

with heavy footsteps

i take knives to my flesh

and carve your name into my skin;

just above my heart,

right below my hip,

into the soles of my feet.

i have yet to learn to speak, so i must write it

in the jam on my toast

and the sand on the beach.

with my fallen strands of hair.

with rocks, sticks, leaves, and flowers.

traced into my bedroom rug.

i think i’ve mastered the art of loving in silence,

but i'm afraid it's become all i know how to do.