“I just don’t know what it is with this one. It was one I liked and then didn’t like and then liked again, so submitted it – got rejected- and then I convinced myself it was awful. It’s seasonal and a bit moody, and I think the lines are too long. Not sure what the message is here, except don’t throw things at people with rocks in them. It’s not nice. Oh, and capitalising random words clearly has a deeper meaning. *rolls eyes at self*”

“Okay, so I thought I was being so edgy coming up with ‘archipelago of sin’. I mean… what does that really mean? This was literally one of the first poems I wrote when I decided to start doing things a bit more seriously, and clearly wanted that to be expressed by using long words and odd metaphors about the body being some kind of dread land mass. Oh, and I make the words look a bit like a mountain at the end. -_- This just embarrasses me and yet it’s still kinda special because I know how much I tried to write something ‘good’.”

“I doubted this piece a lot, because I usually don't write in English and even more rarely write poetry. These words just burst out one time when I was reminiscing while cooking lunch, so they seemed too direct, personal and random to become an actual poem. As often, the thoughts insisted till I wrote them down. And then, I forgot about them for some time, but I don't know... for me, there is still something touching about them. The way we can love people, not despite but because of who they are, and how some moments just make that love grow, even when we already know it's not reciprocal.”

“I decided to trash ‘Chiron in Leo’ because I felt it never really fitted in anywhere. All of the magazines I looked into didn’t feel like a good home for the poem which in turn made me suspect the poem just wasn’t good at all. It’s also inspired by a night I was wide awake and looking through Astro.com (not a great idea!) and it felt quite silly as a premise so that also made me reluctant to publish it.”

TW* strong language

“Admittedly, I did have fun writing out my frustrations about nice guys but ultimately I didn’t think it was literary enough to be published. There isn’t a hidden meaning, there’s no real imagery or any writing techniques. People aren’t going to have multiple interpretations if they ever come back to it. It didn’t seem like anything people would want in their magazines. So I tucked away, never to see the light of day.”

“It was rejected several times and I didn’t really know what else to do with it. This is not my usual style but when our dog died on our road trip it just came out.”

“I consider all of these poems trash because they were written in the moment and never touched again.
This was written back in 2018 while I was in a long distance relationship that just felt long and tiring but I wanted to keep going. I couldn’t bare let them go but I couldn’t be happy because of the hurdles and this was a poem that came out of that. I never shared it with them.”

“I consider all of these poems trash because they were written in the moment and never touched again.
This was written a few months after being all depressed and stuff and finding that we find love again. That it’s a trick. I can’t explain it but it just has this angsty thing to it that I don’t love. Granted they all have a bit of angst to them.”

“This piece is called ‘The Loneliest Hour’ and I trashed it because I felt it was too sad. It felt too self-pitying and I didn’t like that I sounded so…whiny for lack of a better word. I wrote it at a very low point in my life and I didn’t want to be reminded of that point. But I hope in sharing it, someone else can relate and know that they might not be the only one feeling that way.”

“I have written this in so many forms until it was finally forgotten since it always felt unfinished, and I’m concerned I tried to cover too many events and form in the same poem. But I like it.”

“I’m exploring the relationship between the voice in our head that follows us and protects us and who we are in everyday life. It’s clear to me but I never was sure it translated to the page. Hence, under the bed this poem remains.”