ON THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE HEART

By David M. White

Mark how we speak: “He made me wroth,”

“She stole my calm,” “They made me small.”

Such words unbar the soul’s locked troth,

And grant another power o’er all.

Yet this is false. No mortal hand

Can kindle fire within your breast.

Feelings rise where you do stand—

Your own, not sent at man’s behest.

So when one cries, “He made me mad,”

He yields his crown, becomes the thrall.

Say rather, “Wrath in me was clad

In light of what did him befall.”

For if the grief be mine to bear,

Then mine the means to tend or still.

But if it’s his, I wait in air

Till mercy bends another’s will.

Could foes at pleasure make you shake,

You are a fort with gates unbarred.

To give such rule is to forsake

The one realm none should ever discard.

This creed, unchosen as your tongue,

Has ruled unseen since you were young.

To name it breaks no mere thought’s chain,

But strikes the root whence passions reign.

So claim your heart as your estate.

None else may rule it, small or great.

And in that claiming you shall find

The sceptre of a sovereign mind.

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem explores the psychological assumption that our feelings are caused by others, and the quiet but profound shift that occurs when we reclaim authorship of our emotional life. The poem uses a moral‑philosophical frame to illuminate the difference between reaction and sovereignty, and how naming that distinction can restore agency.

ABOUT DAVID: David M White, PhD, is a clinical psychologist in Los Angeles whose work explores emotional authorship, agency, and the inner architecture of experience. His writing blends psychological insight with poetic structure to illuminate the quiet assumptions that shape the mind.

DISPLACED

By Jackie Chou

I am a doll

without a package 

no cardboard box

no plastic wraps

tied with ribbons

I come without a folded life story 

so how can you welcome me

into your crowd?

I am a plastic orphan

with tangled hair

left on a patio chair 

to fade in the sun

Where are my parents?

Where am I from?

Sometimes I feel 

like a white fairy 

unsoiled by the world 

I know nothing about you

or your cars

I could have stepped out

of a Benetton ad

with my honey skin 

But for now

I am only a girl

wielding a pen

My words 

are the only birds I own

fluttering in the wind

ABOUT JACKIE: Jackie is a neurodivergent author of poetry and flash fiction. Her story "Kiss From a Rose on the Grey" has recently been published in Spillwords.

THE HARLOT OF THE EAST

By Md. Naeem Aziz

In the hour when daylight bled into rust,

I saw a young girl dragged through the dust.

Her eyes were rain, her face full of pain,

As humanity drowned in greed and shame.

Her father was helpless with fever and debt,

Coins were borrowed as time was the fate.

Then poverty sharpened its merciless blade,

A daughter’s deal that made her a slave.

I purchased not a body that night,

But only time to stand beside her fight.

A crushing debt that broke a human life,

Turned streets and walls into chains of night.

Before the sun rose and shone,

My messenger returned with coins I owned.

The debt was paid and humanity won,

Freedom was the gift that left her reborn.

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem is based on the story of a poor family, where a teenage girl takes a loan from a powerful man in order to save her ailing father. According to the agreement, she is unable to repay the debt on time, and as a result, she is forcibly taken and pushed into prostitution as a form of repayment. A witness to her suffering intervenes upon seeing her condition and, through financial assistance, helps to free her. The poem portrays a tragic yet hopeful depiction of poverty, exploitation, human compassion, and liberation.

ABOUT MD. NAEEM: Md. Naeem Aziz is a Bangladeshi poet, author, engineer, and photographer. His literary works have gained national and international recognition. Through his writing, he explores themes of humanity, society, history, and emotion.

LOSING A FRIEND. MOURNING A LOST LOVE

By Ogeh Cynthia Onuzulike

I have carried you in two different chambers of my heart.

First, as a friend who steadied me when life was trembling, 

Then, as a lover, my heart leaned toward.

You were the one who held my pain with gentle hands, 

the one who listened when my voice was thin, 

the one who made the world feel less sharp just by being near. 

I didn’t fall in love with you suddenly, 

I grew toward you, the way light grows toward an open window.

Now, I am grieving two losses at once. 

The friend who used to meet me in the quiet places, 

The lover I hoped you might become.

I miss the friend you were, 

the one who made my burdens feel lighter, 

the one who held my stories without flinching. 

I miss the man I saw in glimpses, 

the one I believed could meet me in tenderness.

Loving you felt like opening a door 

to a room I had kept locked for years. 

Letting go of you feels like closing it again, 

with a hand that trembles.

I will carry what we were, 

like a soft ache that taught me something true. 

I will remember your kindness 

without clinging to your absence. 

I will honour the tenderness we shared 

without waiting for its return.

You were a friend I loved, 

and a love I lost. 

Both truths can live in me 

without destroying me.

Thank you for what you were to me. 

Thank you for the warmth you offered. 

Thank you for the part you played 

in a season when I needed softness.

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