The GGP Collective: Spring Quarterly 2024

The GGPCollective

Spring Quarterly, 2024: Issue

9

In a time of universal deceit- telling the truth is a revolutionary act.

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Acknowledgments

Avery special thank you to all of our contributing writers. Without the courage to share your words and work with others, our little publication could not exist.

Please find our contributors and follow their pages on social media for more!

Follow @glassgatespublishing on Instagram for more announcements and future calls for submissions

● Samantha Slaven

● Ophelia Monet.

● Ann Privateer

● Chelsey Jordan

● LJ Rue

● Cat Speranzini

● Anonymous

● Radhika Soni

● Dave Kurley

● Katryn Broadoak

● Adam Brooks

● Daniel Schulz

● Mary Hitt

● Marina Erin

● NC

● Zhnaqeeb

● V.T. Lowe

● amanda thuy

● Beverly Collins

LoveandDestroy

Ifall Hard Fast

Spiraling

Workingmywaytowardsthecenterofanallencompassing,embracingabyss

Ifind

Anewpassion

Words Mannerisms

Imemorizethemall

Becomingonewiththeuniform

Thespeech

Iamhere

Ihavealwaysbeenhere

Lighting

Shootingdown

Causingchaosfromwithin

Idevelopselfdoubt

Thefaceinthereflectionnolongerlookslikemyown

It’sforeign

Ititches

Thesecondskinnolongerfitslikebefore

Intrusive to the ultimate degree

The thoughts manifesting

Become corporeal

Aphysical enemy to battle

The nights drag on

The argument

Repeating like a cursed chorus

Haunting dreams

Disrupting rhythms

I wait

For the demons

To tire themselves out

So the enjoyment and happiness

May return

Samantha Slaven

gutted

proceed with caution or don’t your stare is stifling these counterfeit feelings do little to address the trigger-point

a jolt of electricity briskly pull away the shape of this feeling jagged, sharp use it as a weapon

if you’re going to cut do it with precision empty me of loathing leave me so gutted even the crows weep as they pick me apart

they well know this is how you grow wings

Bio: Ophelia lives in Northern Kentucky with her husband and their young son. She is a special education teacher and spends her free time reading fantasy novels and storm chasing (yes, really). You can find her on Instagram at @mysoullaidbare.

Ophelia Monet

Attracted to Light

Candlelight, muted by the table’s marble sheen, flickers on faces who come together to eat, faces that leave home, faces that sometimes return.

Ann Privateer

Liar Liar

I wish liar’s pants did catch on fire. It certainly would ease the blow of their invisible fists.

Chelsey Jordan

Title: “Liar Liar”

Mediums Used: Watercolor paint brush pens

Inspiration: Based on the children’s rhyme “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire,” it’s a playful piece poking fun at the serious nature of liars and the damage they cause.

Biography: Chelsey Jordan is a writer and artist based in Michigan. She’s known for her funky “watercolor doodles” and creative writing pieces. She often writes about mental illness, chronic illness, substance abuse, toxic relationships, love, and her daily life adventures. You can find her on Instagram under “cjwordsandotherfeelings.”

Liquid Mistress

He cheated on me with a woman named “Whiskey.”

Chelsey Jordan

Title: “Liquid Mistress”

Mediums Used: Watercolor paint palette

Inspiration: My husband is a four-year sober recovering alcoholic. I was deeply impacted by the nature of his disease during his “dark years” where alcoholism almost took his life. I often came in second place to his addiction. I felt similar feeling of “being cheated on,” but by a liquid and not a person.

Biography: Chelsey Jordan is a writer and artist based in Michigan. She’s known for her funky “watercolor doodles” and creative writing pieces. She often writes about mental illness, chronic illness, substance abuse, toxic relationships, love, and her daily life adventures. You can find her on Instagram under “cjwordsandotherfeelings.”

From His Eyes

She once told me that she hopes I find a girl who brings me to my knees.

Agirl

Who plays my own games better than I do. When I realized she was the one I knew what I had to do. I had to leave before she had to become that girl. Before I was in too deep.

Four words screamed into a phone. Four words I knew would break her.

I Don’t Love You

I heard it the second her heart splintered.

I told her she was nothing. She didn’t matter. While fighting sobs of my own.

I sat on the phone long after she thought I had hung up. Listening to her grieve over something that should have never been. I had to make her believe it. I owed her this.

I’m saving her.

My heart was breaking right along with hers. I almost took it back, told her I loved her. That I was so sorry. That I wanted her. That she was everything.

I’m saving her

“Goodbye, love.”

I whispered.

Sealing the final lie.

The one I would forever regret.

LJ Rue

Farewell

Our time was always clear skied, the stars strung like faerie lights swaying in the night. We kissed with conviction as if love was a choice, not predestined fate.

I remember when the hurricane reared its ugly head. I saw the first strike of lightening hit a low-hanging branch. You swerved the car left with terror in your eyes and I sucked in a breath I never fully let out.

I was blinded by the moon whispering promises of the sun rising despite a storm-ridden horizon when your terror turned to doubt and your hand slipped from my thigh.

I saw the exact moment you decided moving on was better than lying. Who is she, I asked, and you shook your head “no," not that a name would change what we already knew.

Out of that car and back on the streets, I listened to the rain hitting concrete. Part of me was angry, a part of me pained, But above all else I expected the break.

After a while, I walked home in the rain and now when it thunders, I remember your name.

Cat Speranzini

She wears diamonds.

He doesn't want me anymore.

She wears diamonds you see,

whereas I am barnacle encrusted. Rough to the touch. I make him flinch. Her eyes sparkle.

Mine lackluster. Ponds of sludge. Reflecting his guilt.

Her skin is golden. Kissed by the sun.

I am kissed by no one. Leprosy.

She has a beautiful aura.

I radiate anger.

He wears a secret smile.

I will wipe it from his face.

I will take the house.The car. His last penny.

And then I shall buy myself... diamonds.

Anonymous

Sweet Deceit

Eyes so blue,

I drown in their wondrous hue

And naively believe that your love

For me is true.

Gasping for breath

In the sea of counterfeit, I die in the nectar of sweet deceit.

Radhika Soni

AChange Of Heart

Scarcely over the autumn blues

Stranded in mid December,

Remembering all your promises

That burn like dying ember.

Achange of heart

Oh, was it due?

The seasons changed

And so did you.

The words I thought were so endearing

Were hollow from the start

And you will stay no more like spring

But winter in my heart.

Bio: Radhika Soni resides in India and writes Poetry to find harmony in life. She graduated with Honours in English and loves to read and write poetry. She is greatly influenced and inspired by the poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, Pablo Neruda, W.H. Auden and William Butler Yeats to name a few. She loves nature walks and rises early to feel inspired with the morning star and create new rhymes.

Radhika Soni

The Cake

His birthday cake

Alake of blue icing

Acreamy-sailed yacht Neatly bisecting the surface With its wake.

She said to the Cake-maker: ‘He’ll love that - he’s a Keen sailor.Always on the reservoir with His yacht mates.

Now, is Delivery part of the service Or is that extra?’

So she thought she’d Surprise him on his birthday At the yacht club that Saturday Deliver it herself, as the cake-maker’s Charge was extortionate, Disproportionate, She thought.

And you know what? It was a surprise, for all concerned Particularly the chiselled young Sailing instructor, who had found Some innovative uses For all those knots He’d taught

And her husband’s Eyes, already wide, widened Further as she entered The cabin, unexpected Armed with cake

The cake flew, not Aerodynamically But ironically (Considering the decoration) Didn’t float, simply Sank over the side of Her husband’s yacht Into the murky depths Under the quay

@kurleybobspoetrycorner on Instagram and Facebook

Dave Kurley

Bio: Follow

I guess this is what it feels like

when you start to move on

I see the memes sometimes

I hear songs that say the same thing in essence, this is the message:

“I know it might be selfish but I hope no one ever loves you as much as I do.”

nah.

I don’t even hope you miss me the way I have, at times, missed you

I don’t wish pain on anyone

I really hope the best for you

I really hope you met someone who is able to read your mind who understands you better than I was ever able to

don’t ever say I didn’t try that would be a lie but, then again you’ve always had a loose relationship with truth

Katryn Broadoak

Here Lies

Sometimes I stare blankly into the mirror.

I can’t see my reflection.

Just a critic filled with judgment.

Possessed by memories.

They are pretty scars that long to scream.

But no one else can see me.

So, I’m certain I’ve changed. Their plan is to keep us blinded.

Long enough to fade away silently.

Similar grainy images on repeat.

From a movie reel that concludes.

But the projector spins regardless.

Stay dizzy and pretend this is all new.

Bait in my right hand, poison in the left.

My work doesn’t know the difference.

Dripping with resentment.

Droplets of crimson next to the inkwell. Your signature on a cancelled contract.

Verdigris tinted helmet.

Pitted and timeworn.

Perfect for the front line.

Or the monsters living beneath your bed.

Apromise from lips with good intentions.

Bio: Catch more of Adam’s work on Instagram @lightdarklove.

Adam Brooks

Sun Set

My Lust is like the shattered sky, the shards on which I walk, the evening red of a fiery sun burnt to cinders in its run, the stars above it glowing as if yearning had pierced through the veil that clouds our minds the folds that blinds our eyes, no horizon but the one we walk on, no horizon but the one we make.

Bio: Daniel Schulz (he/him) is a U.S.-German writer, factory worker, and researcher known for his work on Kathy Acker and his anthologies Welfare State and No Change to Abuse (Backroom Poetry 2023). IG: @danielschulzpoet

Daniel Schulz

I SeeYour Pain

Trickery so cunningly crafted it feels well-deserved

Skeptical trust and manic tears control me, I watch

The way fear can constrain personal sovereignty

Skilled in gaslighting and seasoned in deception

The same movie keeps playing for you, creating cracks

Breaking is not an option, but cracks eventually add up

One by one, they grow deeper with every move you make

Each scene creates a new one, fresh and relentlessly painful

Uniquely designed by you, for you, they’re special and custom

These cracks serve an objective; they can’t be repaired or avoided

Radical, wavering fits of muddled truth that overwhelmingly sting

The pain left behind pushes you to withdraw, loneliness wins

An entirely foreign version of yourself engulfs who you truly are

Avicious victory for your demons, a horrible loss for your soul, each time I watch from the outside, beg you to hear me as I scream out to you

You are not alone; you are only confused by the darkness that coaxes you

Mary Hitt

Bio: Hi, my name is Mary E. Hitt, and I was born and raised in Houston, Texas. I have always had very big feelings, and I never found a constructive outlet for them until I picked up a pen and put it to paper, as a sixteen-year-old who had nothing figured out yet wanted all the answers. I recently started sharing some of my work via Instagram, using the handle @coldmindwarmheart – I am truly energized by the added catharsis that sharing my work has added to entire writing process. I hope my work resonate with other people and has a deeper purpose than just getting me through my own bad days.

Zombie

I write in purple to excuse my passion

Avictim is not what I intended to be

I hate to be reminded

My thoughts are fantasized

My reality not realized

Turn off the lights

Sight is too candid

Only call at night

My senses demand it

Disappearance

Arecurring phenomenon

Confrontation

Ignites the fire

Culpability

Follows the soul beyond

This life’s last hour

Intoxication is relief

Addiction a side effect

Your personality is on repeat

Haven’t we met

Bio: Marina Erin is an independent writer based out of the Central Coast of California. Having spent all of her life in a wild and rural California beach town, her writing draws inspiration from the wonders of the natural world and the impassioned human experience. Marina’s current poetry collection follows a soul’s journey to spiritual awakening and the balance of light and dark that seeds creation.

Social Media Contact:

Instagram & Threads: @marinajo85

Facebook: Marina Erin – marinajo85

Marina Erin

Deceitful Deception

In shadows' dance, deceit takes its bow, Aserpent's whisper, innocuous, now, Born in whispers, in half-truths told, It creeps, it coils, its grip takes hold.

At dawn's first blush, a subtle lie unfurls, Innocent as dew on morning pearls, Yet beneath its sheen, a darkness stirs, Aseed of falsehood, where honesty blurs.

Aweb spun delicately, deceit's design, Intricate threads, a labyrinthine shrine, From whispered secrets to veiled disguise, It weaves its tapestry, ensnaring wise.

With each whispered falsehood, its power grows, An insidious bloom, a thorn-laden rose, From petty deceptions to grand charades, It festers, it feasts, in its dark crusade.

Oh, how it blossoms, this tangled vine, From seeds so small, it intertwines, Through whispered promises, hollow and frail, It crafts its kingdom, its twisted tale.

And as it spreads, its tendrils entwine, Around our hearts, a treacherous sign, For deceit, once sown, knows no restraint, It devours our souls, without constraint.

In the mirror's gaze, we confront our plight, Our reflection tainted by deceit's blight, For what once seemed small, now towers tall, Amonument to our own downfall.

So heed God’s warning, before it's too late, Before deceit's grip seals your fate, For though it starts as a whispering breeze, It ends in the tempest, the soul's unease. N.C.

Bio: Check out more from NC on Instagram, @quotes2_inspire_u

BEHIND THOSE MASKS

You hid your face, just as you hid our little secret, beneath the guise of friendship.

Letting others see me as a beggar, thirsting after you—yet I was only a lover, longing for the truth, one you continuously conceal, whether in sorrow or mere deception. Words like "I'm okay" slide from your lips, convincing yourself as much as you do me.

In silence, tears rip open a chasm between us, where silence dwells amidst scars, growing deeper as I lose my grip, reality was just an arm’s reach fantasy, conjured behind your beautiful smile, your tempting gaze with hazel eyes, I- am merely a prisoner of this false Illusion.

Zhnaqeeb

Bio: Zhnaqeeb is a UiTM student from Malaysia who enjoys poetry, photography, public speaking, and theater. Most of his experimental works can be found on his Instagram of same name.

Loves delusion and deceit

I hang on to your every word

Picking them apart

The kind ones always preferred

I romanticize the delusions you feed

Occasionally choking on the reality

Pulling out the doubt like a weed

You show me your true colors

And I will use them to paint a picture of us

You may be bad, but not like the others

Caught in your web of deceit

I do not struggle to break free

How lucky that your web chose me?

And as I remain hanging there

I see you stand and watch

As I turn blue, struggling for air

Blue like your eyes, my favorite hue

Blue like your favorite color

So I will hang for you

You never really loved me, it was a facade

For a life of comfort with a woman

Who loved you

Who treated you like a god

I’d like to say it was your deceit that shattered me

But now I realize My love was my demise

Bio: V.T.Lowe is a poet from Connecticut. She began writing at a very young age, getting inspiration from life itself. She is not new to writing, but has just begun sharing her stories and experiences publicly. Working on her first collection, she is incredibly excited to invite everyone into her mind and hopes that people can relate to her more honest, not so pretty, and raw genre of poetry.

Check out @v.t_lowepoetry on Instagram for more!

V.T.Lowe

the deception

beguiled by promises of youth, i did not know, gratitude and excursions, would a long way go. deceptively time’s silent hum slowly passes by, so i went on with living, blinded by these lies.

days then years began to pass, once slow minutes lost their grasp. time then faded and onward went, now lies some regrets for time unspent.

this mortal shell began to bend and crack, hindsight now reveals where i lost track; miles not taken held unclaimed memories, days laid in waste with unseen revelries. words left unsaid longed to be spoken, things left undone meant to be kind tokens.

how clever the guise time and youth wore for me, now with handful of minutes left, these aging eyes now see.

amanda thuy

Bio: Writing has remained a constant in Amanda’s life since childhood. She went on to obtain a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature and a Juris Doctor, but her writing passion never subsided. Her writing explores the dark and light shades of life, personal experiences as well as fantasy. You can follow her on IG: @mezzo.strada

Unending Leash

Hold beyond the dash of paws. No

Direction far enough from a tight pull.

What anchors is drama-love home.

What calls from beyond the hard Edge so longed for and unknown?

What illusions spray an aroma like Awhisper?

Is the staple knotted or pounded

With a fist of fear?

Is the want for freedom all bark?

New day, old ropes of thinking, Hands tided by beliefs that sit Heavy upon dreams. Strong twine

Of thought. Is liberation a new trick

For an old dog? Is a circle of sadness

Asure worn road to comradery?

Happiness as a birthright a resisted Lesson. Why?

Beverly M. Collins

Bio: Beverly M. Collins’s photography appears on: Peeking Cat 40 Anthology UK (cover), Mud in Magic book (cover), San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly (cover), California Quarterly (cover), Fine Art America products, iStock/Getty images, Shutterstock, Adobe Stock. On the pages of Harpy Hybrid Review, Suisun Valley Review, Academy of the Heart and Mind and others. Her images can be purchased in several sizes and on different products from her website: beverlym-collins.pixels.com

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The GGP Collective: Spring Quarterly 2024