Editor's Note
Illustration by Tracey Dela Cruz
i’m a bottle
suppressed, stuffed with dried up tears
and dreams that remain as dreams,
words unsaid and crumpled up thoughts,
neatly folded emotions and everything
that otherwise comes across as fantasy
so one day when i get too full and start to spill
of “i’m sorry’s” and damned ironies
throw me out into sea
watch the glass shatter,
into a whirlpool i’ll be
the tragedy wasn’t found in the uproar of the deep blue with which its crescendos supposedly meant to overpower that of the voices it wasn’t in the silence casted, kissing t
I've been struggling, in the constant cycle of denying & living with my mental illness And art has always paved way for self-care, and somehow, healing I truly believe i
only when you stay awake late enough can you hear the sound of daybreak, a town slowly coming alive as you wonder if you still are you count every breath you spend staring
