Salt in the Wound is out now.
We didn’t make this anthology to soothe or distract. We made it because silence felt worse.
Every page turned is a scream in ink—against injustice, inequality, erasure.
This is print as protest. Resistance you can hold.
Featuring work from 21 fierce contributors who chose to write anyway.
Read it. Share it. Salt the wound.
Tag Archives: faith
Let Them Eat Eggs.
When Chuck woke up craving eggs, he didn’t expect to lose his savings, his freedom, or his species classification by lunchtime. In a world run by poultry monopolies and algorithmic demagogues, he learns the hard way: it was never about the ducks.
A Life in Three Parts.
This piece wasn’t written to win—it was written to survive. River’s Pride Under Pressure winner is a raw, unfiltered reflection on trauma, transition, and love. That it was recognised means more than we can say. It’s proof that truth, even when it hurts, resonates.
For When They Drag Me Off to Prison.
for when they drag me off to prison.
not if — when.
new poem. no metaphors. just betrayal, blue bracelets, and the quiet violence of your vote.
read it.
then ask yourself what you’ll tell your children.
A New Alphabet
A New Alphabet
We’ve shouted. We’ve wept. We’ve raged.
Today, just this.
A quieter offering.
A different kind of language.
Aaron Bushnell
A second-person reflection honouring the clarity and courage of Aaron Bushnell—an active-duty U.S. Airman who set himself on fire in protest of the genocide in Gaza. This piece is not comfort. It is memory.
The Journalists are Saying Goodbye.
Halfway around the world, the journalists are saying goodbye — not with press releases, but with poetry, final voice notes, and aching goodbyes to a world that barely listened. This piece holds the names and words of those still documenting genocide with nothing but a camera and a heartbeat. It is not a tribute. It is a witness.
The Catanic Verses VII (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
She left again. The suitcase zipped. The trust, unzipped.
In Scroll 16, the cats of Underland contemplate vanishing acts, unreliable affection, and the sacred betrayal of a closed door.
Love, they remind us, should not require a return ticket.
If she comes back without chicken—look away. Slowly. With purpose.
Woman in Two Parts
A poem in two voices, two bodies, and one shared inheritance.
Woman in Two Parts explores identity beyond binaries—through violence, transition, reclamation, and radical self-love.
Where one part breaks, the other rebuilds.
Where one erases, the other remembers.
Together, they ask: what remains of “woman” when the world tries to define her for you?
Akuntsu. Say My Name.
This is a grave marker for a language no longer spoken. A final breath, a farewell carried in the voice of Akuntsu — a people erased, a tongue unrecorded. There are no archives, no recordings, no translations. Just this. A voice remembering its speaker. A name that still echoes.
