For Days I Could Only Speak in Cliches

by Kait Maurorising

through the depression.
I felt, without a body, something in agony

or maybe a body without a soul, stiff
and too heavy to pull from the bed.

Yes. An obese body, my own flesh and grief,
too heavy for my body to lift. There is no other way
to tell you I woke up afraid I was going to live.

There is no other way to say how I was overwhelmed
by the mundane things –
dishes, the shower, breakfast –
I could not be anywhere.

I ran from Saint Louis
across the rolling ground to Colorado,
where I found the mountains
could no longer offer me comfort,
to my mother’s home in Pennsylvania,
where the red wolves used to hunt and stalk,
to Chicago.

From Chicago I ran back into my heavy tired body, to find
that where the soul had been there was now a hard river stone,
small and cold and smooth. Many suggested a hospital stay,
but what can doctors do for a stone?

I crave a body I can crawl into.

-Kait Mauro is a 21 year old photographer and poet who resides in Western Pennsylvania.
Her work can be seen on


When I Used to Love

by Mr. Wolf

I used to love…
When he would hold and kiss me
When times were better
When we didn’t care who saw
When we just discovered our feelings
When I found him again on Facebook
When he told me he loved me
When we held hands
When we held each other
When we slept in each other’s arms
When I was 17 and he was 20
When we were a grade apart
When we were in the JROTC
When we made love for the first time
When we cuddled in the backseat
When time knew no bounds for us
When we were two kids in love
When our hearts were synchronized
When our souls were one

Then…the heartbreak
When I found out he wasn’t the one
When he left me for someone else
When I used to love


“Mr. Wolf,” was born and raised in Detroit, MI. He graduated from Cass Technical High, but still hangs around with his younger friends from time to time. He’s 18, and has his share of hustles to get by. He loves to write and debate. He is also a Liberal Republican, defending both the NRA and gay marriage. He’s bisexual, and looking for his love once again. This poem is based on his relationship with a former schoolmate, and the first time he was in a relationship with another guy.


by Victoria Bell

The fairer sex-
The weaker sex-
Opposite sex-
Sex kitten-
Sexy bitch-
Sex education-
Same sex marriage-
I want your sex-
Sexy and I know it-
Contains some sexual content-
Let’s Talk About Sex-
Sex, Lies and Videotape-
Sex and the city-
Sex drugs and rock n roll-

None of these is how I feel for you
Wouldn’t it be easiser if it was?

Make no mistake, I don’t want to “make love,”
I want to fuck you. But it’s more.
And you feel it, every bit of it.
This would be easier if it were just

-Victoria Bell fancies herself as a writer and calls Seattle her home.
She doesn’t shy away from sex. She has a pen and she’s not afraid to use it.

Love Letter

by Kait Mauro

Sleeping in the Forest by Kait Mauro

Sleeping in the Forest by Kait Mauro

This is for you.

The universe conspires on your behalf. You are here because you are wanted and needed.

You are the entire universe manifested in blood bone and beating breath. You are terrifying and beautiful. You are wild. You are affection embodied, and the earth delights with you. It offers itself to your imagination, calls to you by your many names, tugs at the hem of your sweater. And you have survived everything

so far. Though you are only one in seven billion, your hunger and fear and delight are not insignificant. You are the alto moan of July thunderstorms, you are the hedonistic beckoning of the forests, the Cascade mountains, you are the slick dangerous dance of the sea, the tamed bones, the laced cartilage. Has there ever been a more human phrase than, “I want you to know?”

I want you to know that you are savage wonder, childish delight. You are joyful and sexual and being and it is alright to live. You are the wise and infinite redwoods. You are raspberries crushed in the hand and confusion and discontent and sleepless nights and you are loved. And, no matter what they said, despite what you’ve needed to hear and were not told, it was not your fault.

Learn to cup your palms together to hold the grief lightly because the furled leaves of the trees are offering, to you, their invitations. My body, too, hungers for simpler spaces and lighter ways. I, too, crave more human contact, answers, questions. Doesn’t the soul shiver nicely?

Your body was meant to heal and to take it and it has. I can only guess that the soul was made just as slippery and giving. Remember that we like you. Remember that you are wanted here and that, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.

-Kait Mauro is a 21 year old photographer and poet who resides in Western Pennsylvania.
Her work can be seen on

The trouble is how to live

Lilith by Kait Mauro

Lilith by Kait Mauro

by Kait Mauro

in a female body in a world where
male is the default, where man is who you are
measured up by, pressed to
grinding against.

The trouble is how to exist in a body
of curved language in a world
of straight lines, how to flow and feel and crawl,
as the body yearns to do.

The trouble is the body’s world—
where my sisters have been
raped by the ones they love.
But it is this world, this same world,
that whispers to us as mother.

The morning songs reach out to my body
with their furled hands, in sisterhood.
We, the women of this house,
gather to discuss what it all means.

The trouble is how to exist as bilingual
without losing your mother tongue,
how to speak your fathers language
without speaking the language of his wars
against your body, the canvas body,
projected onto.

The trouble is the wild zones, which are
also our salvations, the x spaces, the
things we are not supposed to talk about.

Hear me out:
I was once among you,
hating the vessel in which I live.
I found women in the wilderness-
Plath, Olds, Oliver-
and I tell you, I could speak again.

-Kait Mauro is a 21 year old photographer and poet who resides in Western Pennsylvania.
Her work can be seen on