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“Trauma comes to alter your journey. People need to know that.”

“The power of life and death is in the tongue.” “BEING

“WHEN TRUTH IS SPOKEN OUT LOUD, IT DOESN’T JUST CHANGE LIVES. IT SAVES THEM.”

This month, we open space for one of the most necessary and courageous conversations poetry can hold: trauma. Not as a spectacle, and not as something to be rushed past, but as a lived experience that shapes us, challenges us, and often births our most honest art. Within these pages, you’ll find work that does not shy away from the truth. Poems that sit in the discomfort, honor the wounds, and still make room for healing, reflection, and release. Our featured poet leads this conversation with raw vulnerability and intention, offering words that feel both deeply personal and universally familiar.

As we approach year two of Pulse Poetry Magazine, I’m filled with gratitude that feels bigger than words. To our loyal readers who continue to turn these pages, to the writers who trust us with their voices and stories, and to everyone who believes in the power of poetry across different states, backgrounds, and lived experiences, thank you. It is a privilege and an honor to continue creating this space with you. May these poems sit beside you, breathe with you, and remind you that even the quietest truths deserve to be heard.

With all my love and gratitude,

Ashanti Taylor-Alexander Founder, Pulse Poetry Magazine

Linette Rabsatt

Bruised Stars

it’s hard to heal anyone who tells you differently has never been hurt they’ve never had bruises that send you into hives as they heal because you relive every heartbreaking moment that trauma that always reminds you that you don’t deserve to be the best you the scabs thicken as you cry every night struggling to fight to get going in the morning because you can’t let go but you can’t let the feelings show so you internalize all the stress and hold on to every single bad thing that has held you back even when your physical body heals your mind keeps reeling taking you back to the hard times, the dangerous climbs the insane moments that you lost yourself your bruised mind and heart won’t heal until you really deal with the hurt inside and let it collide and combust into fine layers of dust until then you remain a bruised star flickering faintly unable to illuminate

It Happened

By:Linette Rabsatt

I simply could not stand it I tremble in the chair I cannot stand, cannot sit waiting for any news I can hear how could this be true reality has not hit me yet it couldn't have happened to you I still remember the day we met why has life handed me this blow

I try my best to understand this trauma has left me feeling low feeling disturbed and bland

I want to make this right

I wish I could rewind time you are no longer in my sight but your light will always shine

Featured 2026 Poetry Grants & Deadlines

Pulse Poetry Magazine is not affiliated with these grants. This is for information purposes only

NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship: Poetry

$8,000 Application Close: January 27, 2026. For current NY State residents who are the originators of their work. NYFA

NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship: Poetry $8,000 Application Close: January 27, 2026. For current NY State residents who are the originators of their work. NYFA

African Poetry

Digital Humanities Grant $10,000 Application

African Poetry Digital Humanities Grant $10,000 Application

Deadline: January 23, 2026. Supports projects using digital methods to study African poetry. Opportunity Desk

Ruth Lilly & Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowships

$27,000 Open to U.S. poets aged 21-31. Applications are typically open in the new year; guidelines become available in January. Poetry Foundation

$27,000 Open to U.S. poets aged 21-31. Applications are typically open in the new year; guidelines become available in January.

Poetry Foundation

Poets & Writers Readings & Workshops Mini-Grant $150–$450 per session Application Open: November 1–31, 2025 (for events JanMar 2026). The grant is awarded to sponsoring organizations in NY State to pay writers. Poets & Writers

Literary Arts Fund General Operating Grants Varies ($10k-$75k)

Applications Open: June 1, 2026. For eligible non-profit literary arts organizations and presses. Literary Arts Fund

Applications Open: June 1, 2026. For eligible non-profit literary arts organizations and presses. Literary Arts Fund Poetry Foundation General Operating Support Varies ($10k-$75k)

Poetry Foundation General Support Varies ($10k-$75k)

Applications Open: June 1, 2026; Deadline: July 15, 2026. For nonprofit poetry organizations, presses, and publications. Poetry Foundation

NEA Literature Fellowships: Poetry Up to $50,000 Note: Prose fellowships are available for FY 2026. Poetry fellowships will be offered in FY 2027, with guidelines available in January 2026. Grants.gov

Y'all Got Me Fukkt Up!

by Lisa "Lipps" Davis

Y'all got me Fukkt up...

Just cuz I spit poetry to love songs and such.

But understand... I was born on a firing range and my aim is deadly... I just choose to restain...

Cuz fo'real, it ain't worth the price For me not to be nice ..

But I'm nice with these words... And these thick ass hip curves...

And I don't spit much that I ain't done...

Cuz I am well pass being a young'un. And I've buried more bodies than a few....

And if u only knew... The depths of the things I been thru...

U'd stand back in awe... That I'm still here at all...

Cuz I lived thru the things Many have only read... Segregation, Protests, And mutilation til they're dead...

And all that had happened by the tender age of 5. And I've seen strange fruit hanging With my own 2 eyes...

Crosses burned... on my own front lawn...

And not being allowed on the streets from dusk til dawn . . . Seeing my father followed home by police... Cuz they thought my mama needed rescue and release. And being question regularly about, 'what am I??'

Then getting angry stares when I give them side eye....

So know that for me to get thru my day, I do a lotta consideration on the things that I say... Just know that my anger can sometimes run deep... And it takes quite a bit for it not to seep.. Into everyday life

So I'm saying "what's up?...."

When what I'm really Feelin' is... y'all got me Fukkt up!!!

©lgmghe2-23-23@1:50am

Contented & Free

by Lisa "Lipps" Davis

Warm rain falls outside my window. The sound of Angel tears falling from Heaven.

My loneliness is only surpassed by my need to escape... Escape from this life I unwisely chose while looking for a life of secured dreams...

I compromised with God, Knowing He doesn't bargain, And he made my bargain His folly.

I prayed, "Please Lord, I've had great lovers, but I need stability... Please help me be what he expects!" Not fully understanding what I was asking for.

And His response is what I now have... No physical connection... and proof that security was always in my hands.

It hasn't all been bad. My pen to this pad is proof... I found my creativity as I lost myself.

As I lost my will to move, I found my strength in words...

And he isn't a monster. I'm just not the partner he needs. We were designed to be friends, We just chose to take it too far.

We both know this has been brewing for years because Personal growth is stunted. We each need to find true companions, Not just someone to tolerate. And we need to really live our own lives.

I need to find happiness in whatever time I have left... A half century has passed and I still haven't found it. The hopes and dreams of the girl I once was are barely more than dying embers... I need piece of mind.

I want a man to love me the way my Pop loved my Grandma... 56 years of marriage... 10 kids...

yet they still shared a love that never grew old. Mornings began with a kiss... Days ended with him rubbing her legs...

And they played together like children who had a secret language all their own. That kinda love just is...

No one can teach it. You have to want it...

No amount of begging can bring it, and it cannot be manufactured. So yes, I need this, And so does he.

To be as God intended... Happy... At peace... Contented and free. ©lgmghe10/2/12@7:29pm

Keep living

When I work on myself I pour into my future

Everything begins to align

The things that I want for my life I have to envision in my mind

My relationships, goals, career, and health

It all starts with me

I hold the power to make a difference

But first I have to see

I deserve great things

And walk a path that’ll be fulfilled

Surrounded by people who love me

And experiences that feel surreal

My life is mines I steer the wheel

I’m appreciative of all I have

I’ve had nights of many tears

Which makes me appreciative of the laughs

Be kind to others

Greet people with a smile

Be a person who’d be emulated by your inner child

Seek joy every day

Don’t do things out of spite

Make sound decisions

Until you get this life thing right

New Year, Fresh start

A new year is a fresh start

What will this year bring?

I’m excited to make new memories

Travel and try new things

Each new year Brings a word

That matches my goals to perfection

Last year was intention

This year is about connection

I promise to push myself more By easing out of my comfort zone

I plan to include people more And not do everything alone

I’m excited for the upcoming year

And where these connections will lead Time is of the essence

I just have to proceed

Speaking Truth Until It Heals

By: Ashanti Taylor-Alexander

For Sunny Alicia, poetry began as instinct before intention. Long before she called herself a poet, she was rhyming, rapping, telling stories, some imagined, many lived. Growing up in chaos gave her something she didn’t ask for but learned to transform. Poetry became her outlet when silence felt heavier than truth.

As her voice matured, so did her vision. Her vocabulary expanded, but more importantly, her perspective widened. Sunny learned to write beyond herself, to step into other emotions, other angles, other truths, because understanding, for her, is an act of empathy. And empathy is where healing begins.

Her work returns, again and again, to the places most people avoid. Childhood trauma. Sexual abuse. Relationships shaped by survival. She doesn’t soften the edges. She goes straight for the truth. Writing is a spiritual confrontation, a quiet but relentless question of whether to tell or to stay silent. Fear may arrive first, but she welcomes it. Fear becomes momentum. Truth becomes release.

Sunny writes for herself and for others, sometimes because she has no choice, sometimes because someone has trusted her with their story. Whether she is writing for a specific audience or following her intuition, the intention remains the same. Honesty without apology. Vulnerability is her language. Transparency is her offering. She speaks openly about what she has endured because she has seen what silence does to people. She has lived it. Words, she believes, shape reality. Using them can heal. Withholding them can imprison. When she shares her story, she watches people soften, cry, and breathe. She heals alongside them.

Poetry has been central to her own recovery, especially as a survivor of sexual abuse. Traveling, performing, and exchanging stories with other survivors has been liberating. It is proof that survival has many faces and that she is not alone. Writing about trauma is both freeing and brutal. In 2018, she began a book, writing eight chapters in a single week, then stopping completely. Remembering hurt too much. Healing demanded distance. She honors that pause.

When the weight resurfaces, Sunny prays. She leans on her sisters and close friends. She has made peace with her past, even when it still echoes.What she hopes readers take from her work is simple and radical. Truth. Hope. Resilience. Recovery. Trauma, she reminds us, does not arrive randomly. It comes to alter your journey. Knowing that can be the first step toward reclaiming purpose.

That mission lives beyond the page. In 2020, Sunny founded Sunny Side Wholistics, a healing centered platform advocating for survivors through poetry as therapy. Through curated shows across cities and states, holistic practices, and now poetry education for children, she is building spaces where stories are honored and voices are restored, especially for kids the same age she was when her own trauma began. Looking ahead, Sunny is preparing for shows in Houston, Rochester, and Cleveland, with powerful collaborations on the horizon. A poetry album is in the works, projected for 2026. For now, she is resting, intentionally. Soon, she will travel to Florida to witness a poetry slam performed by her former teacher’s students. A full circle moment she calls everything. Sunny Alicia is not just writing poems. She is speaking truth until it heals and inviting others to do the same.

Trauma Is Not My Native Language

By: Tiffany Mariie

Trauma tried to teach me repetition. Tried to make pain feel familiar, like a couch you sink into even though the springs stab your spine.

I learned early how to survive rooms where love showed up drunk, where silence hit harder than fists, where my name sounded like a warning label instead of a blessing.

I wore my wounds like hand me downs. Same hurt, different body. Same cycle, new excuses. I called it loyalty. I called it patience. I called it “that’s just how it is.”

But trauma is a liar with good timing. It waits until you’re tired and convinces you chaos is chemistry, that neglect is depth, that being chosen by pain means you’re special.

I stopped mistaking survival for destiny the day I realized I was rehearsing my own harm like muscle memory.

My nervous system was doing parkour over red flags. My boundaries were suggestions, written in pencil, rubbed out every time I wanted to be loved.

I don’t romanticize the damage anymore. I don’t call scars proof of strength just because I lived through them. Some things aren’t lessons they’re warnings.

I broke the cycle by letting discomfort feel foreign. By choosing peace even when it bored me. By walking away from what felt like home because home shouldn’t hurt this damn much.

Healing wasn’t soft. It was violent. It was ripping habits out by the root, vomiting versions of myself that learned how to bleed quietly. I had to grieve the girl who thought pain was a prerequisite for love.

Had to bury the belief that suffering made me worthy. Now I treat my trauma like a closed chapter, not a prophecy.

I don’t revisit it for nostalgia. I don’t let it write sequels. What happened to me may explain my reflexes, but it does not get custody of my future.

I am not a cycle. I am the interruption.

Breaking Pattern

By: Tiffany Mariie

Trauma tried to turn me into a rerun. Same episode. Different season.

New cast.

Same damn ending.

I learned how to bleed on schedule. How to call tension passion. How to sit still in rooms that kept daring me to disappear.

My body memorized chaos, heartbeat double-timing like it owed somebody money, gut screaming before my mouth ever did. I ignored it. Called it intuition. That’s how trauma gets you, it steals your instincts and sells them back as personality.

I was loyal to what hurt me. That’s the part nobody talks about. How pain feels earned. How familiar feels safe even when it’s killing you slow.

I stopped the cycle the day I let peace feel awkward. Let silence stop meaning punishment. Let walking away count as growth instead of failure.

Healing wasn’t pretty. It stuttered. It shook. It made me lonely before it made me free. But I am not here to repeat myself. I am not a pattern, a punchline, or proof that damage is destiny. What happened may echo, but it does not conduct. I am not the trauma. I’m the break in its rhythm.

And if pain comes looking for me again, it better knock, I don’t answer doors I had to bleed to leave.

The Weight

Some mornings I wake up already tired, and it has nothing to do with sleep. That’s trauma. It settles on you like weight you didn’t volunteer to carry. The scars—visible and invisible—aren’t reminders of weakness; they’re proof my body figured out how to hold more than it should have had to. I’ve seen that same weight in prison yards, hospital rooms, and grocery store lines. People standing upright while something heavy presses down from the inside. Courage isn’t lifting the weight all at once. It’s getting up anyway. It’s choosing movement when stillness feels safer.

— Nelly Vee

The Alarm

Trauma wired me like an old building with a sensitive alarm system. Everything feels urgent.

A tone. A look. A memory. Sirens go off before logic arrives. Anger wants to respond fast, loud, final. But I learned early that alarms don’t mean danger—they mean awareness. I’ve watched men react to echoes, women flinch at shadows, strangers explode over things they couldn’t name. Healing came when I stopped punishing myself for the alarm and started checking the room. Courage is learning when not to evacuate your own life. — Nelly Vee

The Scar Map

My body remembers routes my mind tries to forget. Every scar is a coordinate. Together, they map where I’ve been—through confinement, through recovery, through survival that didn’t come with applause. I’ve read that same map on others: in eyes that scan exits, in hands that don’t rest easily. Trauma doesn’t erase the past; it redraws the future with caution lines. Courage isn’t erasing the map. It’s learning how to travel it without getting lost in where you’ve already survived.— Nelly Vee