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redrosethorns journal
Conscious raising, frequently utilised by feminists, involves individuals sharing their experiences to enhance awareness of social, personal, and political matters. This method has proven highly effective in fostering unity, building communities, and shedding light on broader issues affecting diverse demographics worldwide. It's a means of expressing our identities and experiences, ultimately empowering us.
Inspired by this approach, redrosethorns launched an online journal publication aimed at facilitating conversations about mental health, gender, sexuality, self-care, and empowerment.
ISSN: 2978-5316 (online)
If you would like to submit your work
to redrosethorns journal, click here.
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Surrender
I’ve journeyed through many lives,
roles, responsibilities, identities.
Some eagerly embraced with joy and pleasure
until their expiration dates passed
and they were lovingly or grudgingly released.
Janet Shlaes
Nov 21, 20251 min read
Identity
Who am I?
Not my name,
status,
public persona.
Who am I?
Not my attire,
assorted roles,
others’ projections.
Who am I?
Janet Shlaes
Nov 21, 20251 min read
Confused
I sure as hell am confused. Confused about
where to give my energy and my time.
What to pursue and what to leave behind.
Lizzie Case
Nov 21, 20251 min read
Patience
Hook me up to an IV I am surviving
The red Sharpie that bleeds into my unconscious
cheeks at 15 mimics the faint marks on my 16-
year-old wrists
Does it mean I’m not sad if I’m too afraid to draw
blood?
Lizzie Case
Nov 21, 20252 min read
Letter to a Ghost
I must choose words carefully
to contact someone shapeless, timeless.
What can I write about my life
without you, that would make sense
or translate to the state that holds you
in the soft containment of your being?
Sharon Scholl
Nov 21, 20251 min read
A War On This Body
I’ve been waiting for my body to harden
From years of wear, it has succumbed to agony
With loose limbs, thinner skin, and creased eyes.
I have been with this body my whole life,
It brings me to and fro
Holds my head upright atop my neck,
Max Pelkey
Nov 21, 20251 min read
Cyclical in Nature
I am trapped in a cycle I never wanted to be in.
Around I go,
Watching myself from afar as I fall apart.
Pieces of me dropping to the floor, down, hitting harder each time,
falling farther than ever before. An addiction,
Max Pelkey
Nov 21, 20252 min read
The Return of the Prodigal Son
Years earlier, he made a vow to never return
home to live before he left for college
in the mountains. He had a desire to explore
the world and gain knowledge.
Thomas Beckwith
Nov 21, 20252 min read
"I Wouldn't Mind if She Got Pregnant"
…my sister-in-law
after her granddaughter was gang raped.
A crude pronouncement
made from the safety of her cozy living room
adorned with crucifixes, icons and holy water.
I wouldn’t mind if she got pregnant.
Such easy words
from someone who was not subjected
to the stench of rotting teeth and flop sweat
forced into her body.
Kathleen Hoy Foley
Nov 21, 20253 min read
The Dark Side of A Sunny Street
I grew up on the dark side of a sunny street
where chain link fences still stand
bearing witness to the days
when Father Greco did not know best
and My Three Sons were three too many.
Where the intellect and artistry of girls and women
Kathleen Hoy Foley
Nov 21, 20253 min read
An Ordinary Day
On an ordinary day
Dead Boy emerges from the smog
on wings of a dark messenger
and motions to me.
I feel my old body hurling backwards
through decades.
Seas parting
Circus lights set ablaze
Asthma squeezing air from my
young lungs.
Philip Foley
Nov 21, 20253 min read
Deamon Jesus & The Ghost Boy
I grew up in a home anesthetized by my father’s silence. As if the air in our house was shot through with so much Novocain, everyone walked around in a drugged stupor. My mother and siblings looked through me with confusing, blank gazes of dejection and isolation shadowing their eyes. My father didn’t look at me at all. I dissolved into a hollow blur inside those suffocating, airless rooms. A ghost. A phantom creature. A dead boy floating in a salt lake of tears I couldn’t sh
Philip Foley
Nov 21, 20259 min read
Mortification
I made an apricot pie for a gathering. It was a flop. I slipped into shame, humiliation, embarrassment, because it wasn’t perfect, and I hadn’t brought pleasure to the people who had come together to celebrate community. I was horrified when I cut into the pie. It was a soggy mess. Not that anyone said anything. They just didn’t eat it.
Fay Loomis
Nov 21, 20253 min read
Castles in the Air
Tommy's voice was low-pitched and urgent as he murmured beseechingly to his wife. She didn't respond. He gazed at her, strewn across their bed, her auburn tresses spilling over the pillow. She looked beautiful to him, despite the way she'd let herself go since the baby died. Tommy remembered that it had been only weeks, but the heartbreak seemed to stretch back as far as he could recall, years almost, owing to Rachel's mental history.
Bill Tope
Oct 24, 20256 min read
The Least Suckiest Gifts of All
I didn’t have a father. To clarify, I wasn’t hatched, nor did I come into being by my mom releasing an egg into the water, some dude swimming along minding his own business, dumping out a gallon of his jizz like fertilizer, and poof—there I was. No, I came into the world in the usual way: some random sweaty guy tussling with Mom in a cramped back seat, whispering an assurance of undying love.
Jill Williams
Oct 24, 202510 min read
Troubled Conscience
I’m digging a hole with a coffee spoon,
scrambling eggs with a cardboard trowel,
combing my hair with the garden rake.
I used words that bruised, caused tears
that shattered like beads of mercury.
Elizabeth Weir
Oct 24, 20251 min read
Lesson of a Sunset
August night, on triple heels,
I raced the sky, I cracked my heels.
“Wait, red sun! Don’t descend,
don’t let the dusk devour your end!”
Vangel Gable
Oct 24, 20251 min read
A Mother's Lesson of "No"
Thank you, my angel dear,
for brushing teeth when I am near,
for cuddling close before the night,
Mommy loves her girl so bright.
Vangel Gable
Oct 24, 20251 min read
Palm Reading
my hands tell me I am getting old
my heart and mind beg to differ
my heart slightly skippy but basically steady
my mind strays a bit but mostly stays sound
Mary Janicke
Oct 24, 20251 min read
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