iron birds are lookingfor their soulseverywhere Photo by Steve A Johnson on Pexels.com About the Poet: Mykyta Ryzhykh (he/him) Nominated for Pushcart Prize. Published many times in literary magazines: Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal. His chapbook tombboy (Lоst Telegram press) was released in april.

You found something in my lithium eyes
The leather belt left more than marks on your neck
As you buried yourself in bourbon and stink
Bonded by our death-wish
You would laugh as I would cry

Your mask was much stronger than mine
Mine as fragile as wet paper tissues
You love with the back of your hand
Waiting for your trophy wife... Continue Reading →

I wish my bed were a cot,placed in the middle of an Ontario foreston a June-lit night, till the second week ofSeptember.I wish my clothes were the embodiment of earthfar away from death,in the colors of October, when everything is going homeand home for me were already here.The poplars could be my rainthe soft white... Continue Reading →

I miss your tender call,Your pleasant voice of the father,I miss you picking me up when I fall,I miss all the time spent together.I miss your parental advice,I miss your wise words,I miss you teaching me how to be nice,And how to fly free like the wildest birds.I miss you telling me that I was... Continue Reading →

I'll bring order to something because I have none elsewise;but really there's none,as we're lost in the spinning wheel of Id.Gut dysbiota tells me the chocolate chip cookies are calling my name& I like playing games.To eat or not to eat, that is the question,ask those who dig cakes out of the trash.Oh what we'll... Continue Reading →

The aloe bloomed as soon as I was alonein the hospital elevator, surprisingwith the intensity of its flower.Spikes erupted like little cat teethalong the margins of my life—the spiny burr of a chestnutbecause there is no justice.But some days even the rain stopsand cracks appear in the clouds.The blossom wilts and fadesthough soothing memories still... Continue Reading →

Slowly, whimpering Softly, with a thudPausing in between But moving all the same. The ashen sky above meThe ashen road belowYet I shake off the ashFrom my soul in tow. With a quivering handI turn the blotted page And once again Begin to rewrite My character on stage… Photo by Julia Volk on Pexels.com About... Continue Reading →

She was the first one to go becauseno thread of hope was ever in theair; she a meek girl at the age ofthirteen who had a poor opinionabout herself because of the fightsand negativity that poisoned the air.And there was no way out for her,no kind soul to whisk her away andgive her a loving... Continue Reading →