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As we step into a new year and proudly release Issue 19 of Pulse Poetry Magazine, I find myself reflecting not just on poetry, but on purpose on what it truly means to grow, to dream, and to create a life that feels aligned with the person we’re becoming. This month, we’re talking about vision boards, resolutions, and the sacred act of imagining a better version of ourselves. But for me, this issue is more than a theme. It’s a mirror. It’s a reminder that every year, every month, every issue is another chance to choose ourselves again our healing, our joy, our discipline, our peace, our truth

When I think about vision boards, I don’t just see images and goals I see hope I see possibility I see every moment when we decided not to quit, even when life or doubt made quitting the easier option. I see every poet in this community who writes through their storms, who finds strength in their voice, who lays their truth bare on the page even when the world feels heavy. Pulse Poetry Magazine was built from that kind of courage. From late nights, personal sacrifices, out-of-pocket funding, and a dream big enough to stretch beyond fear. I’ve watched this platform grow from an idea into a global home for artists, and still every issue humbles me Every poem reminds me why we started Every reader reminds me why we continue And now, entering a new year, I feel that same fire That same pull to evolve

Not just as a creator, but as a person As a leader As someone who is still learning, still healing, still becoming

My hope is that Issue 19 meets you exactly where you are whether you’re rebuilding, reinventing, or simply trying to stay hopeful. May these pages remind you that you’re allowed to envision something bigger for yourself. You’re allowed to start over. You’re allowed to grow at your own pace. And you’re allowed to become someone you once dreamed about. May this be the year you step boldly into your vision. May this be the year you don’t shrink

May this be the year you trust yourself more deeply than ever before

To the poets who submitted: thank you for sharing your soul

To the readers who continue to support Pulse Poetry: thank you for believing in this mission.

To the dreamers holding onto a vision board full of goals: I see you, I honor your journey, and I hope this issue gives you the inspiration you need to keep going. Here’s to new beginnings, clear vision, intentional growth, and a year filled with art that moves us forward.

With all my love and gratitude, Ashanti Taylor-Alexander Founder, Pulse Poetry Magazine

“Another Year, But I Ain’t the Same”

I hit this new decade like a door I finally stopped knocking on kicked it open with a bruised heel and a full chest, ’cause growth ain’t gentle, it’s a street fight with your shadow.

I been outgrowing cycles like jeans I can’t squeeze into trauma threaded, tight-stitched patterns I kept wearing like they was designer.

But baby, I’m done walking round in pain that never fit me.

This year? I shed habits that held me hostage. I buried versions of me that couldn’t make it to the woman I’m becoming poured liquor on the dirt, whispered, “Thank you, but stay gone.”

Age doesn’t scare me anymore. What scares me is staying the same, circling the same blocks of heartbreak and disappointment like I ain’t got new streets to roam.

I been pruning my life like a stubborn garden cutting off things that grew wild but never grew right.

Watering what loves me back. Letting the sun bless what I used to hide.

Growth got me talking to God different, loving myself louder, apologizing less for taking up space.

I ain’t the woman I was last decade she had fire in her hands but didn’t know how to hold it.

Now I’m flame-proof. I don’t just rise from ashes I walk around with soot on my skin and victory in my voice, proof that I survived burning down everything that tried to burn me down first. Call it aging if you want. I call it evolution a shedding, a sharpening, a rebirth with my real name on it. Another year older? Yeah.

But another cycle broken. Another wound healed. Another version of me stepping out the rubble taller, tougher, and finally… free.

Tiffany Mariie

“Choosing

Me This Time”

I grew up learning love from a woman who didn’t know how to offer it without a bruise hiding behind her words.

My mama taught me storms before she taught me sunshine taught me how to brace for impact before I ever learned how to breathe.

I spent years trying to soften myself just to fit inside her hard places, trying to earn a kind of love that stayed locked behind doors I never had the key to. No matter how much I bent, stretched, broke nothing I did ever made her whole.

But this decade?

I finally realized something sacred: you cannot satisfy someone who feeds off your empty. You cannot heal someone who keeps handing you the knife.

I used to think growing up meant forgiving her faster than she hurt me, meant shrinking myself small enough to dodge her shadows.

But growth is louder than that. It’s me saying: I deserved better than the wounds she called discipline. I deserved tenderness from the woman who birthed me.

I carry the echoes of her anger the emotional cuts, the mental bruises, the kind of pain you hide in places your smile never reaches.

But I am not her unfinished healing. I am not the daughter she tried to break to match her brokenness. I’m choosing me now. Choosing peace over permission. Choosing boundaries over bloodline. Choosing a future where my voice isn’t trembling to exist. I used to chase her approval like a child chasing light on the wall thinking if I ran fast enough, I’d finally catch something real. But baby, that was a mirage. Some people stay thirsty no matter how much you pour.

So here I am at the edge of a new decade unlearning the lessons that wounded me, rewriting the ones that saved me, and growing into a woman my mother could not raise because she never learned to raise herself.

My healing ain’t a rebellion. It’s a resurrection. A declaration that the cycle ends with me.

I am loving myself the way I begged her to love me soft, patient, whole.

This time, I’m choosing the one person who never left me, never betrayed me, never stopped fighting for me: me.

Tiffany Mariie

“Blueprints of an Unbroken Seed”

— by Nelly Vee

I look back now at forty-four and realize I wasn’t supposed to survive half the storms I walked through. I was that seed thrown into hostile soil, buried under weight that should’ve snapped my spirit in two. They expected me to stay underground— quiet, unseen, forgotten. But even then, something in me knew how to pull light out of darkness, how to grow off memory and the stubborn faith of ancestors who whispered, “Rise anyway.”

My life became architecture— scaffolding made from pain, walls built from lessons, a whole structure standing where the world predicted wreckage.

Now I see the truth: even when I was buried, I was never broken— I was blueprinting my own liberation.

“Liberty Doesn’t Ask for Permission”

— by Nelly Vee

At this age, I no longer apologize for the sound of my voice or the weight of my truth. I learned the hard way that human rights aren’t “granted”— they’re claimed. People used to tell me to tone it down, to smooth out my edges, to make my story easier for others to swallow.

But years sharpen you. Experience turns you into a storm that no longer asks skies for permission to thunder.

I found my voice by losing everything that kept me quiet. Now, when I speak, the foundations shake— and if they crack, that just means they weren’t built to withstand a man who finally knows his worth.

“December’s Lantern” — by

Nelly Vee

I’ve lived long enough to understand that freedom isn’t a moment— it’s a lifetime of choosing not to fold under the weight of history.

At forty-four, I honor December 2nd, but I also know the fight didn’t end there. Abolition was a lantern— carried through bloodlines, passed hand to hand, so one day someone like me could walk with my head high and my spirit unchained. The chains I’ve seen— some metal, some mental— didn’t fall clean. They cracked from the prayers of those before me and the resilience of those beside me.

Now I carry that same lantern, steady in my hands, lighting the path for whoever comes next.

Because at this age, I know: freedom is guarded by the ones who refuse to let the flame die.

Barriers and Boundaries

I am worthy of love

Despite my past hurt

I smile when things are hard I laugh while I'm hurt

Life isn't always easy I wish it came with rules

No matter the circumstances I always push through

The obstacles I face won't last all the time

The hard times I endure Won't stop victory from Being mine

I have to keep showing up I owe that to myself I present myself as strong But sometimes I need help

I try and I try But somehow it's not enough Feels like I'm moving downward While trying to rise up

Sometimes I'm misunderstood

Even when I communicate clearly

Sometimes I feel alone

Even when people are near me

I know it all gets better

And I aim to reduce stressing But sometimes it's hard to enjoy joy

When you feel stuck in a lesson

Constantly being tested

Often being corrected

Tending to others needs While mine are neglected If you accept me for me

Why do you try to mold me

To someone else then?

I long for the days

Where it aligns and makes sense

Once I set my boundaries

Life hasn't been the same sense

Speak

To Me In Poetry

by Lisa "Lipps" Davis

Speak to me in poetry...

Spill ur heart in languid languages of how u truly see me.

Let verses flow from the heart of one who loves and cherishes me... This flawed creature with quirky ways Who has never fit into any mold.

Tell me how my unicorn ways Fit perfectly into ur design.

Craft soliliqueys of how ur heart beats

To the rhythm only I can hear. And I will return in kind... Fluid syllables of how... just ur presence moves me...

Mind moving in metaphors of how my soul flies free Just because ur here...

So speak to me in poetry... Of a lifelong dream made reality...

And I will be urs forevermore.

©lgmghe01-31-2025@5:09pm

An

Ode To A Healthy Breakfast

by Lisa "Lipps" Davis

I was born in the country So we ate off the land. If we didn't grow it It was not in demand.

So we had fresh eggs And bacon and toast. And if someone went fishing Well that was the most!

But back then, what's 'healthy' Was thought of as girth So they fed you, and fed you, From the time of your birth.

And as a result I grew up to be A fat little girl That just wanted to be

Outside in the yard Playing ball with the dog Not understanding I lived in a fog.

So now, as a grown up I struggle each day... My tastebuds want scrapple But my butt says, "no way!"

So this morning I did What I know that I should... Assembled a breakfast Of things that are good.

In my bowl is fresh pineapple, mandarin and peach, And creamy greek yogurt... But there's more I beseech! The glass contains juice Of a tropical blend, Mango and pineapple, But that's not the end... The last is the best Most important of all. A bottle of water, Must stay hydrated y'all!! So folks pray for me

So I'll stay on this track Cuz already my mind Is wandering back

To things like smoked pork chops, Fried cabbage and greens With fatback and Buttered potatoes and cheese. So help me, just help me

To get through this day Without falling too hard As I travel my way.

I know I'm not perfect I love chocolate and chips.. But I need to eat stuff That won't land on my hips.

I’m That One I’m on the edge of the bed listening to Pandora on a Robin Thicke rotation

I can’t believe where I am right now and the thoughts on my minds contemplation…

My heart aches and my stomach is unsettled as I sit feeling constipated with the questions I already know in my gut

Why must I continue to punish myself flip flopping these thoughts stuck in this miserable rut??

I have to hear the words come from your lips, but am I ready for your answers?

I don’t want to hear the words as life changing as I have one of those cancers

You’ve been spiritually unavailable to me because you have moved into her emotional sphere

Now every day I am asking myself how in the hell could this possibly be fair?

How did I let you slip away from my grasp, is this just a minor formality?

Are all your choices the result of my factious reality?

What is it that I did or didn’t do to keep you within these arms, the ones that have kept you warm for so long?

Why couldn’t we talk about what was lacking, what needed to change or where you felt you truly belonged?

…was it me, you or her

I don’t like second guessing what we had all these years…what I felt was real but…what about when I waited up for you and when I heard your keys I pretended to be sleep

Or the look I would get when your lock down phone would ring and it was close within my reach

See I already know the answers to the questions but I must be a glutton for punishment because out your mouth the truth you must bare

Now I am having all types of flashbacks because you know I have been there and again I’m Here, I know that honesty is a hot commodity and often times very rare But because of my loyalty and commitment you cannot expect me to share

Has she moved into your heart? Have I been evicted without written notice?

What happened to cherishing me like an Egyptian Lotus?

See that some shit because for years I was by your side, I inspired your dreams and I soothed your mind

I kept your house clean and cared about your needs I even wiped the snotty nose of your illegitimate seeds I let down my barriers and worked through my insecurities for me to rise and step into my womanly maturity I had you to thank for my continuous growth and my mental stability

Now I want to smack myself for expressing so much vulnerability These thoughts of you keep replaying in my head

I won’t stay stuck I am moving straight ahead Now I have changed and I give you the credit

It’s really ok, we all can use an update and edit

Remember this face as I choose to walk out the door, My aura and unconditional love you will experience no more I’m the one you’ll look back and say “Damn, I was a fool I let her get away”

-QueenEssence

Two by Two

You heard my heart emerging from the hermit’s cave, healed and embracing the unknown, releasing tears full of joy because you’ve touched me in places that made my earth quake at the sight of you.

My pulse races, and the finish line is in your arms, and my want is for you to be withdrawn from your daily stress, to release your worries and find resolve in my womb, where life is brought forth from the union of two, two souls, who choose to dance to the tribal drum and sway and sweat until one, if not two, are numb.

This is my vision, the dream I dreamt from years of old.

I spoke of you before the breath you knew as me was preparing the bed with scented mists on clean sheets, and you heard whispers of come lay with me.

Perhaps you recall the word closer as you return to that last en-counter, dishes in the way of what wanted to be fulfilled, a moment that feels like yesterday though it still waits to be real.

This experience, or should I state this reality that exists with you, has me identifying déjà vu, and again it’s you.

Two by two we were called up into the arc of my back, and I was ready to ride the wave with you, for you are my reflected thread; two woven strands torn from a tattered and frayed cloth that was disregarded by ones who only wanted what they sought. Instead I’ve been blessed with a beautifully designed version of God, and to see my reflection living in his heart, to stand beside this man as part of a divine plan, an instrument tuned to precision, to the math of division, subtraction, addition. My choice to reveal myself became the path to seeds that flourish, two by two, rising and reminding us of our union and the love we share.

I love you… anyplace, anywhere.

-QueenEssence

This Time, I’m Not Afraid

I remember when her irritation used to shake me, when a simple “you pissed me off” felt like the whole world cracking beneath my feet.

Back then I loved from a place of panic heart tight, breath shallow, trying to buy peace with roses like love was something I could bribe into staying.

But this time… I heard the same words and felt nothing but air in my chest, a quiet confidence sitting where fear used to live. She joked that I won, said I done pissed her off, and instead of spiraling I smiled, soft.

Sent her a “have a good day, mama,” and let her walk into her shift with my calm on her screen.

Because now I understand irritation ain’t abandonment, and conflict ain’t a countdown to goodbye. We’re human.

I’m gonna annoy her sometimes. She’s gonna need her space sometimes. That don’t mean love is leaking out the room. It just means we’re real..

It’s wild how different it feels loving someone when your heart ain’t afraid. How healthy hits different when you’re not clinging, not shaking, not trying to save something that was never dying. I’m anchored now. Grounded. Holding her without losing myself. Trusting that even on her toughest days, she’ll find her way back to me and I won’t be waiting in fear, I’ll be waiting in peace. This time, I’m not loving her from survival. This time, I’m loving her from strength. And this time… I finally feel ready

Right Soul. Wrong Season.

I wanted to believe she was the wrong one after we departed turns out she was the right soul but in the wrong season. Timing trips you when healing is missing and two broken hearts try to beat in the same rhythm.

Back then? Two storms trying to tango lightning in love, thunder in communication. We weren’t toxic… we were tired. We weren’t wrong… we were early.

We fell apart or God pulled us apart before we broke something He planned to return fully assembled.

I told myself, “That wasn’t Mrs. Right that was Mrs. Right Now.” But sometimes Right Now grows into Right when God hits ‘reset’ instead of ‘delete.’

She came back on a different frequency— just grown… like ‘I fixed the parts of me you used to bleed on.’

And suddenly? No arguing. No raised voices. No eggshells. Just peace so thick you could press your palm to it and feel it pulse in your chest.

She met my son and he smiled at her like his spirit already knew her soul from a lifetime we can’t remember. I caught my own breath because in that moment I realized I had been holding my heart hostage waiting for this season.

God tapped my shoulder like, “See? This is why the first run-through failed.”

The woman who hurt me then ain’t the woman loving me now. I had to forgive the unfinished her and the unready me the parts we were both still learning to hold gently. Second chances? They don’t mean a thing unless the behavior changes first. That’s math, baby you can’t multiply a future with someone still subtracting from your peace. Standing there divided until you come together under a second power ’cause real love only adds up when both hearts bring the same answer. Two variables trying to solve themselves before solving us that’s how you end up with the wrong solution to the right equation. But when she came back? Everything aligned. No more mixed signals, no more crossed signs just two healed minds finally working on the same side of the equal sign. You can’t rush the math God writes in pencil.

Sometimes He erases the moment just to rewrite the meaning turning the problem that broke you into the formula that frees you. Sometimes it wasn’t the wrong woman just the wrong weather. Never the wrong love just the wrong season. When timing finally catches up to the soul meant for you… she was the right soul all along you just had to wait for the season to agree.