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By Jasmine Kaur  Jasmine Kaur (she/her) is a queer writer/artist from Punjab, India, though currently living in Sri Lanka. She likes to surround herself with stories and poetics in any medium, including audio, video, still images and performance. She tends to be weird like other normal abnormal normal people and enjoys pretending that she's very self-aware. She’s currently a Masters in Philosophy at Delhi University. You can find parts of her on the internet at https://sites.google.com/view/jasmine-kaur/ or @trying0000 on Twitter and @jasmineismeltingintosummer on Instagram.
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by Nat Raum i bite off my middle fingernail to keep myself quiet; the fake opal you got me on the beach in cabo winks back. the keys on my keyboard that are the most worn spell out the word “caress” and i cannot remember the last time i typed that word or felt that sensation. the chatter is jarring, the jazz is smooth, the people by the door keep congratulating each other. days go by where i somehow do not think of you when i charge through the swelling mass in the halls, eyes fixed on the linoleum. (i want someone to congratulate me.) my new room after you was blue, and up at the top of stairs i still couldn’t climb in the dark; the fastest way home is still through the park at night. Nat Raum (they/she, b. 1996) is just trying their best right now. They are a multimedia artist and writer currently working towards their MFA at the University of Baltimore. Their work is primarily based on their experience living with C-PTSD and often takes the form of books and zines that combine writing and photography.
By Cale Guidry  Cale Guidry is a Queer poet, photographer, and florist living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana who draws inspiration for their work from the rich flora and dark history of the swamps in their hometown. Originally graduating in Literature at Nicholls State University, Cale is currently pursuing a degree in Floriculture at Louisiana State University.
By Cale Guidry  Cale Guidry is a Queer poet, photographer, and florist living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana who draws inspiration for their work from the rich flora and dark history of the swamps in their hometown. Originally graduating in Literature at Nicholls State University, Cale is currently pursuing a degree in Floriculture at Louisiana State University.
By Kristy Lueshen Imagine yourself in a house made of weathered wilting lilacs, tulips, lilies built at first with stone that turned pungent and soft organic. The flowers feed you broth and lemon water their crowed petals dainty in the dusklight you sense their decay, an effervescent but floral disease as you yourself wither amid the bare knees of existence. Glass melts, too, over time. The windows sag and droop like copper kettles left on the flame for an eternity of waiting. Imagine yourself drinking tea from the last of your heirloom teacups, condensed steam dribbling down the sides and bergamot drifts across the table. Kristy Lueshen is a queer writer and librarian living in Chicago. She has a Master's in Library Science from the University of Illinois and a Master's in History from DePaul University. Her creative work focuses on memory, nostalgia, and surrealism, while her academic work focuses on radical feminism and social movements. She can be found baking bread and taking naps with her cats in northwest Chicago.
By Paridhi Puri They’ve predicted a torrential downpour of loneliness today – the television guy said it will rain cats and dogs over the balcony of the lone house that has wept in silence since you left town. I hear commotion outside the garage – there’s a queue of ghosts waiting on the sidewalks to lay claim to the memories you once planted in this behemoth of a town. The city is ruthless. it auctions every piece of you to the highest bidder – until your soul splinters beyond recognition. It still hurt when you said you couldn’t recognize me. The garage sale is going well – we actually made a profit, believe it or not. The streetlights have come alive now – they’re waving to the shadows that once used to be ours. I’m still waiting for the rain to clear the dust and damage away. It hasn’t rained since the day you left, and my heart is heavy. We’ve sold everything we once had, and the weight is still intact. Paridhi Puri is a student and writer based in New Delhi. A scholarship recipient at University of Iowa's International Writing Program, she's worked as the Head of Events and Collaborations at Ayaskala in the past. Her passion lies in the close observation of pop culture, politics, art and literature - you can find her skipping paywalls of articles, and talking about the ghost stories in her family.
by Nat Raum after dreamland i am standing at the edge of the pool like in whip it like in the incredibly loud video like hockney like every coming of age movie ever except i didn’t have this moment i didn’t have an arc i just woke up one day i am cold i am hard i am not what that republican i slept with one time expected of me i am not the queen of england i am not the king of denmark i am flesh i am bone i sigh face aglow in fuschia pink every ounce of everything every ounce dripping out of me like watercolors bloom along the path of least resistance sometimes the moment talks back sometimes it shouts Nat Raum (they/she, b. 1996) is just trying their best right now. They are a multimedia artist and writer currently working towards their MFA at the University of Baltimore. Their work is primarily based on their experience living with C-PTSD and often takes the form of books and zines that combine writing and photography.
By Clem Flowers Grove of sugar beans out by the gas farm we laid for hours doing nothing but counting star marks along each other’s arms felt the heavy air swell our lungs churning heat bakes everything for 5 country miles scratch dagger tendrils fade into heirloom tomato sun falling upwards to jagged fangs aching for the tumbleweeds to shake them loose leave them clean meat of lightning hangs like party streamers just above our touch salted path to Heaven we took to land here shimmers in the glazed dusk Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. In an eternal search for the perfect sweet potato fry. Nb, bi, and queer as the day is long, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777
By Clem Flowers Shards of mandrills hook into their tongues all thru the plush slide of clover hills- balance finally returned to the blooms of lilly and sleepy sugar silk. I beckon the kingsnake to meet me in the snow bank & can’t help but grin when I spot the emerald in their mouth. Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. In an eternal search for the perfect sweet potato fry. Nb, bi, and queer as the day is long, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777
By Cat Robinson stealing the wind from twined time adrift in spite afraid of drowning in itself it be waves crashing into the body a body not my body it be skeletal cracked & muscle-less clanking joints chattering jaw be quiet passer-by slinking through streets dackering limbs dangling in darkness be raging warrior eagle eyed & thumping chest be eyes shut tightly trying to forget clutching fingers & tacky tongue it be red clay earth’s blood gruesome mill staining palms gravely it be habit after haunting before hysteria it be banked immunity, refusing to aid perishing body be observer of injustice judge & jury that turns a blind eye be permanent keepsake that be off kilter before it leaves & leaves & leaves Cat Robinson is a young Black writer and poet from South Carolina. They are currently a MFA in poetry candidate at UNC Greensboro. Their work investigates how the experiences of the self and vaster concepts in life are reflected on and through the body.
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