Roses are red,

Violets are blue.  I have lived my life,

    And so have you.

But I need,

       Something more.  (I need)

Something to love

       —With all of my heart.

All these lines.

All these words.

All these thoughts, scribbled across paper for a girl I do not see.

(Not know.)

Scribbled in ink, staining the paper.

                                    Staining my soul.

                                    …But she is—

                                    …she is beautiful…

I stand before you now. . .

We are two poets. . .

Will you let me be?

Will you accept my world as it is?

I've only just wished for a second chance. . .

The word feels strange on my tongue. Like I might just taste it and spit it out because it tasted wrong.

I might as well bite my tongue and taste blood than say that word out loud, because the word girlfriend has never been reserved for someone like me.

mud & slush spill

into my lowas

rifle slung, on my back

I thought that if I were a better person, then maybe things would go better for me.

I thought that if I were a better person, then maybe I’d be happy.

I don’t know what I want anymore.

Katie Cecilia is a poet and mental health advocate with a strong passion for helping others. Through her authentic and heartfelt writing, she explores themes of healing, self-care, reflection, and self-discovery.

We were honoured to speak with Katie ahead of the launch of her book, ‘Growing’, to discuss her journey as a writer, her process of healing and self-discovery, and her advice for up-and-coming poets.

Don´t you remember what you wrote in that message on that cold rainy morning in May?

Because I remember crying while I hid under the covers, thinking the world had surely ended.

mmm, her

nails digging

into my back

but no one’s

here

the sun

won’t peak

Once again Diderot's beautiful ruin stands

in the corner of my mind,

the great book-city he described in Les Bijoux Indiscrets.

That is the question you probably ask yourself every time I see those three dots disappear.

When did this become so fucking one-sided?

When will I stop making the effort?

When will I call the time of death?

we met late in july

by a break in the sky

now our love is penniless art

thunder, thunder

over and under

recite the tale of my heart

They said it would be easy,

a simple walk in the park.

But I knew better,

with each step came a pounding in my head,

a weight around my arms,

a vice around my throat.

"Hello best friend!"

Scribbled on the first line,

your name,

carried in my heart,

and written on every page.

I have gotten used to invisible hands.

They held my gaze, whispered to me.

Like a phantom lover, they mesmerized me.

It has only been a short time since they touched me,

And yet I am certain I can feel them now.

I do not want to—I do.

I hear the roaring laughter of the winds as it crawls into my

Veins of fear.

What could possibly be left of the lingering thoughts of going

Somewhere far away in the Pacific ocean

Where no human feet are traced

Following the successful launch of her second published poetry book, Wings Unfurled, we were overjoyed to speak with poet and author Libby Jenner about her poetry inspiration, writing process, and how poetry has been a powerful tool to help her with mental health and to heal traumas.

I forget myself in the melancholy of times,

where the arrows are like scissors

When She looked at the dragon, it seemed to her like air dissolved in hopes, blue, blue, shimmering like a garland and this attracted, like a moth to the radiance…