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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)

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A Canterbury Tale From My Bedroom
My Camino de Santiago is the journey out of my own bed.
A rugged expedition, to be sure,
but one, I’ve been told by many, that is worthwhile.
Many preparations must be made, as to be expected:
Tearful pleads for one’s body to move,
self-inflicted berating and threats,
a numbed trance-like disassociation of complacent nihilism.

M. A. Dubbs
Apr 25, 20252 min read


Thoughts from A Neuro-divergent Gamer
I can’t help but notice
that the bad guys
in many video games
have just escaped from an asylum.
Muttering to themselves,
tied up in white straitjackets
covered with buckles or shackles
and maybe a muzzle
fitted for a human head
instead of a rogue dog at a shelter.

M. A. Dubbs
Apr 25, 20252 min read


That Man
Trish spotted that man again, out in the front yard this time. What was he up to now? she wondered. She peered closer. He was trimming the hedges with an electric gizmo. Was he the guy that David was going to hire to help around the house? He seemed awfully old for a handyman, and his red hair appeared to be dyed. He seemed to always be around; whenever she looked up, there he was, with his goofy smile and dark blue eyes. He had nice eyes, she thought, but the grin she could

Bill Tope
Apr 25, 20255 min read


Doe Eyes
When the coroners finish extracting from beneath the fallen oak the rotting corpse in weather-worn clothes that was once my twin sister, I watch them, dazed and numb, carry her off through the morning mist.
I can’t move from this bed of despair and dead leaves nestled near where I found her mere hours ago.

Jenny Morelli
Apr 25, 20254 min read


Dear Younger Me
What you wish is actually true. Like the stray cats you’ve collected, you also have multiple lives to live before your forever life comes for you.
The life you’re living now will not last much longer. You’ll soon grow big enough, old enough, to proceed to the life after this, one full of choices and responsibilities and only in the pauses will this life glimmer and flicker like a distant memory or black-and-white film.

Jenny Morelli
Apr 25, 20252 min read


It Takes a Village
I am the remnants of my past,
fragments of my family’s
growing, flowing patchwork
quilt, each square a memory,

Jenny Morelli
Apr 25, 20252 min read


Emotional Unintelligence
A therapist's waiting room is an odd purgatory. Especially when you are not alone. I try to avoid eye contact with the other people the best I can, but sometimes, it just happens. A quick glance where you both acknowledge how you’re both here at the same time. Both there to fix the problems that were probably passed down to you by your parents or because of a horrible trauma you endured. r, sometimes, you’re just broken.

Zoe Martin
Apr 25, 20256 min read


Goliath
when i was a child i was given a pebble
everyone said that the pebble wouldn't grow
that it would stay the same size, but they lied
and the pebble grew larger with each
encounter i had within my own head.
as time passed the pebble turned into a rock
and the rock turned to stone.

Elizabeth Towers
Apr 25, 20251 min read


The Right Side of Vanishing
We said no ghosting. Did we? I don’t remember it, but I can imagine I said it.
Dating in London is not the smoothest experience and at the time I was coming from some traumatic ghosting, actually, it still burns a bit. Although with him was different, I had been clear, I'm sure. It was one of those sweaty London June days. The kind of days that, even if rare, every Londoner finds quite hard to forget. Work laptop in my bag, I was travelling downtown in the direction of somet

Caterina Biondi
Apr 25, 202510 min read


I Don't Know What to Say
“I don’t know what to say.” The response was tediously predictable.
The night before, in the haze of sleep, Rashi had envisioned her

Smita Das Jain
Mar 22, 20259 min read


Thanks for these Gray Hairs
Thanks for these gray hairs
Thanks for these weird discolored spots
(liver marks?)
Thanks for my thunder thighs—
They help me to climb

Jane Hertenstein
Mar 22, 20251 min read


Lost in Space
What is happening?
I am lost in a world
that does not fully know me,
nor I fully understanding it.

Duane Anderson
Mar 22, 20251 min read


Purgatory
I am here,
then I am not,
there is silence,
then it is gone,

Duane Anderson
Mar 22, 20251 min read


The Love That Changed Me
I spent my whole life believing love
was something you held onto. No one warned
me how much of yourself you could lose in the
holding.

Samantha Dousharm
Mar 22, 20256 min read


A Rage of Not Knowing
It’s right there
It’s right there
It’s just right there
Frying the fascia
Sizzling the skin
Emerging through pores

JT Thames
Mar 22, 20251 min read


Invisible Backpack
I carry it everywhere—
straps digging in
just enough to notice,
never enough to explain.

Veronica Tucker
Mar 22, 20251 min read


Stains That Don’t Wash Out
It’s not blood.
Blood comes off—
warm water, firm pressure,
gone.

Veronica Tucker
Mar 22, 20251 min read


Motherhood, Post-Shift
I come home
and my child wants to play—
blocks scattered,
tiny hands reaching
for mine.

Veronica Tucker
Mar 22, 20251 min read


The Longest Shift
The shift never ends.
Even when you leave,
it follows—
stitched into the seams
of your routine,
tucked into the quiet

Veronica Tucker
Mar 22, 20251 min read
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