By Advita Tiwari

Advita Tiwari is a high-schooler passionate about all forms of expression, from writing and poetry to photo and videography. She loves to pen down her thoughts whenever possible, and publishes some of it on her Substack blog too. Advita believes that peer review is the best way to improve her work, and is currently on a mission to get the same from lit journals. She hopes that she can bring some positive change through her writing, even if on a small scale!

What if we were all the same?

Is there a point to all the names?

Would there be peace without the differences, the fences,

That rise up and restrain us from embracing oneness?

Life’s a grand opera,

And its flow has two sides,

The cacophony of war that seems all too loud, and yet,

Within this flow also lies the sweet melody of unity.

But what if we were all the same?

Would we then have achieved world peace,

The perfect euphony in the greater power’s composition,

That we call the universe?

Or will we never be able to get over these disparities,

And end up playing havoc with

What was never truly ours to begin with?

And all this thought leads one to wonder:

What if we were all the same?

By Reebie Flowers

Reebie Ann Flowers is thy name. Currently, studies Criminal Justice at Sacramento State as a NSLS student. She believes that poetry is a love language that she traditionally speaks. She has 3 books available from Barnes&Noble.com to Amazon… She can be found on Instagram: viewerzchoice35 https://www.instagram.com/viewerzchoice35?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ== 

"Become one with self. Eliminate all distractions before going into the state of creativity. Drink plenty of water and purposely drive your mind to focus on the beautiful things that make up this universe. "

Peacock Feathered

What to do when the appeal of your aesthetic hits the atmosphere differently?

Must wear every color…Pridefully. Unapologetically. 

Secretly, scope each scenery…

Since the societal norms, will attempt to patternize the uncharacterized.

Take ownership of how one identifies…

And see the perceptions shift by the unpatronized.

Despite the misconceptions, your authenticity is needed.

A Snipers Detection's

Moving through the highest of mountains without hesitation.

Correction, frequently evaluating frequencies…

Brought a need to interconnect with one's secrecies. 

Sincerely, adhering to one's own personal needs…Diligently. 

Can be effective in clearing any congestion and insecurities.

Wholeheartedly, take responsibility for…How and what feels.

Attentiveness is the ultimate power of necessariness…

Remove the rights to conceal.

Please don't forget, a sniper's detection is supposed to expose any virus.

Out in the Field  

Doing more than what's necessary, to rise above the contrary. 

High maintenance from within, while assisting with putting effort despite life's odds. 

Can place one on a radar, that brings division to authenticity and fraud. 

Rolling up sleeves, to suit one's mentality…

Isn't seen as a necessity. Postal. High priority. 

Promising with prioritizing, is minimizing the risk associated with digitizing. 

A blueprint that can't just be taught. 

Don't be afraid to get your hands, feet… 

Out that mud… Set your magnitude on default. 

One has to get up. Create a daily strive for tomorrow.

Remember your source. Most times it isn't always luck. 

Believing in you, got you this far …Notice the challenge.

I even saw a few little scratches. 

Defeated? Not. Made it through just fine. 

By Jasmin Beghal

Jasmin is an avid poet who has previously been a runner-up in 2 poetry competitions. Her love for poetry comes from her studies of it in English and continues outside of her academics. Some of her favourite poets are Carol Ann Duffy and Maya Angelou. 

Haven't heard from you in a while:

It’s been raining for the past week;

It finally came after the heatwave we had all summer. 

I started a new cross-stitch design;

Hopefully it won’t take me too long to complete. 

I start university in two weeks; 

I’ll update you on what I learn.

I went to Greece for my nineteenth;

I’ll show you the photos in a week. 

I bought myself a guitar in March;

I’ll learn your favourite songs if you’d like. 

I’m trying to read a book from every country;

Do you have any recommendations for Mozambique?

Everyone is asleep while I write to you;

This is the only comfort zone I have left. 

I’m trying my best to stay calm;

I’m trying to climb a mountain that’s too steep.

Haven’t heard from you in a while.

I’m tired and I don’t know how to let go.

Canto I:

‘There is no sorrow greater 

than, in times of misery, to hold at your heart 

the memory of happiness’

Canto 5, Inferno

Many days and many nights have 

passed since my first encounter with 

my other self. I have lost many 

memories and nights of sleep 

trying to grasp onto any

sense of reality I come 

across. I have seen many lives 

remain somewhere between life and death, 

locked in my cage of bones of those that 

came before me. 

Across the plains of choice and truth, 

lived a man, who was once shacked down,

away from any city of 

light and hope, birth and death,

and he is kept in secrecy. 

He is but one man held back from 

any civility death might 

have brought him. Yet he died anyway. 

Many nights and many days have 

lent themselves to the plucking of 

our lives and the taking of our 

freedom. In many ways, the act 

of love gave some escape 

from wherever we find ourselves. 

It hid itself in cupboards and 

corners, waiting to be found by 

some soulless creature. 

There have been countless errors and 

tragedies that have unfolded 

that made my life a general mist 

of grief and loss. I tried to leave 

but it never left me. Escape 

meant I was a dead man. There was 

no more left to give in 

than the times of misery and the 

memory of happiness that 

learned its lines and fit its costume. 

Those moments died on stage. 

The dust settled and the doors closed. 

Remnants of livelihood paint 

themselves over chipped walls and 

collapsed ceilings. It recreates itself 

in the ruins that remained, lost in 

time and only existing in what we 

created. 

Loss, grief, bravery, transgression.

Each moment stained like ink on my 

hands and each of my 

memories were scribbled on scraps of paper 

that littered the floors of my mind. 

I have known no perseverance like the memories of grief. 

Shall I stay in my shroud of certainty, 

or shall I leave across the frame of time 

and all that we believe to be true? I 

have never wanted to stray 

from what I have known in life 

and I have seen no other choice 

but to stay in the life I was given, 

and to fit into my role with 

whatever pieces I was given. 

Only time can tell who will 

survive these tragedies and who 

will remain in their purgatory 

but only one thing keeps 

its certainty and that is 

that we can only be alone together.  

By Fatima Mendez

Fatima Mendez was born on July 4th, 2008, being born  with both physical and mental disorders preventing her from having a normal childhood. From a young age, she learned that poetry was an outlet for her to express her thoughts, and emotions. Fatima writes with honesty and courage, unafraid to show the world her true self.

"Her piece, "White Lotus" is a raw expression on piece grief and self expression."

The star dusk stained your lips – you are a blessing to earth. 

An angel on earth, full of flaws, but I love you regardless.

I want to understand how you do it.

I want to see right through it.

You are strong.

I’m sorry you have to doubt it.

I’ll write it a million times until you believe it.

I'll scream it on the top of my lungs until you don’t need it.

And when you die, don’t fear it.

It's natural, I know you are afraid of being left behind.

The beauty of it all, I know you can’t see it.

But death is graceful, death is kind.

Don’t be afraid, I’m with you.

I’ll swallow your ashes, take you with me.

That is the beauty of the world.

It's within our souls, it's in the air.

It's runs through our veins--

It's everywhere. 

By Loo May Ching Candice

Candice Loo is an amateur poet from Singapore who enjoys writing about her reflections and perspectives on life.

Thirty-five, going on thirty-six,

The age of in-between,

Soon to bid farewell to youth -

At least by Singapore’s society standards.

Standing at the threshold,

The cusp of becoming,

Grieving over the loss of innocence,

Fading capacity for late-night indulgences.

Fine lines slowly creep up to greet me,

Guiding me gently into acceptance, 

Yet I remain eager for the wisdom ahead,

And wonder how my hands could continue to serve others.