Sometimes we wait for a prince to save us… or discover we must save him ourselves. Sometimes the Prince Needs Saved is more than a collection of poem. This is a season captured in words, 69 pieces of lived emotion, written mostly in 2025. This is a book for anyone navigating love, grief, identity, or the quiet acts of becoming.
Sometimes the prince needs saved cover
Within these pages you’ll find poems that speak to the fractured and the whole, the tender and the fierce. Moments of heartbreak, moments of discovery, moments when identity is questioned and reclaimed. Each poem is a witness to a life lived, a journey felt in bones, in breath, in quiet nights.
Whether you seek reflection, understanding, or just a voice that meets you where you are, this collection opens doors to introspection, empathy, and emotional clarity. These poems are intended for readers who do not shy away from the raw edges of life, who appreciate lyrical honesty and emotional depth.
The ebook is available as a PDF download, easy to read on any device and always ready to accompany quiet moments, reflective evenings, or moments of self-care.
Carry these poems with you… let them sit in your chest, echo in your thoughts, and hold your heart when you need it most. Sometimes the Prince Needs Saved is now available for instant download. Explore, reflect, and become alongside these 69 poems of life, love, grief, and identity.
Ramblings of the Lost and Found is the second full-length poetry collection by Axton Mitchell. A transgender poet exploring the raw intersections of identity, grief, love, survival, and memory. Written over the span of a season in time. This 63-poem collection captures the in-betweens of life: the moments that break you, rebuild you, and leave you asking why.
Through vivid, intimate snapshots, Axton navigates relationships, trauma, mental health, queer joy, and parental loss. Each piece feels like a note from a storm or a whispered secret from a healing place. Either way, offering readers a deeply human, unflinching perspective on life’s complexities.
Content Warning:
Themes include grief, death of a parent, trauma, mental illness, identity-based experiences, and suicidal ideations.
Why You’ll Love This Collection:
Vulnerable and unfiltered exploration of life’s emotional landscapes 63 poems capturing the messy beauty of existence. Insight into the lived experience of a transgender poet, perfect for readers seeking connection, reflection, and honesty.
Visit Poeaxtry and the Prism’s Archive Cheat Sheet. Discover all post categories, with a blurb and link to full post archive for each. Then find every post in that category in chronological order.
Poeaxtry_ began as poetry, grew into ritual craft, lapidary art, and community care. All layered with me, Ax (me), at the core of every creation.
The Story Behind Poeaxtry_
Poeaxtry_ started as an idea, a name, a whisper. In 2022, my sister, my friend Dea, and I were brainstorming branding names. Just spit-balling, on snapchat what we thought would eventually be my poetry brand. I wanted a name that carried my voice, experiences, and survival. We landed on Poeaxtry_. Poetry with Ax (me) intertwined. A simple truth that has only rung more true with time.
At first, it was just supposed to be for my poetry collections. Explore themes like (but not limited to): queerness, recovery, identity, and grief. But Poeaxtry_ is stubborn, and begged for more.
From Poetry to Full Creative Practice
Now, Poeaxtry_ encompasses not only my poetry, but handmade lapidary art and rock-hounded creations. Stones I’ve tumbled, polished, sliced for lapidary, slabs that hold texture and story. Ritual tools, wands, spell jars, pendulums, tarot readings, natural sprays, tinctures. Fossil jars and specimens that whisper the histories of the earth. Wreaths, wind chimes, altar decor, and other hand-crafted decor. Journals, zines, and collaborative publishing for marginalized voices. Every piece, every poem, every creation is layered with me, my hands, my heart, my history.
Even as it grew, the Poeaxtry_ branding name still fit like it was made for this life. Poetry, craft, ritual, and community all intertwined. Each item, poem, ritual is a form of poetry itself. A record of what it means to live, survive, create, and witness.
While you’re here, think about your own connection to poetry and craft. What do you create that carries you in it?
A journal entry that tells your story? A handmade object you poured meaning into? A curated ritual, spell, or piece of art you crafted. A poem or reflection that sits in your chest.
Comment below and share what feels most like you. I always find joy when I am able to see how art lives in other bodies.
Poeaxtry_ is about more than what you see in any online shop. It’s about presence, survival, ritual, and care. Not only for myself, but for community. It’s about only leaving traces when ethical. It is a whisper. A chill. a silent look or a shared moment. Standing as proof that you exist at this moment, and that you matter.
Share this post with someone who needs a little creative or spiritual inspiration today. Someone who wants to see poetry and art that live. Stones that speak. Crystals the cry. Rituals that are reminiscent of the care used to create them. Let them know Poeaxtry_ is a space that holds beauty, complexity, and truth.
Check out Poeaxtry_ shops, portfolio, & internal links
Visit Poeaxtry and the Prism’s Archive Cheat Sheet. Discover all post categories, with a blurb and link to full post archive for each. Then find every post in that category in chronological order.
One of the most sound pieces of advice I’ve seen in recent graffiti. Two other examples of good advice in graffiti in the post below. I found all three here today in Wheeling, West Virginia at the Overlook Castle.
This collection captures Days 13 through 19 of the 100 poems in 100 days creative challenge I am participating in. These entries were written daily. They were just shared as a batch in one post. The first 12 were shared daily as solo posts. These poems reflect a week of observation, reflection, and response. Each poem is a moment in time. You’ll find poetry that is personal, political, and more. I am documenting memory, grief, injustice, and the search for clarity and home.
While these seven poems are shared together, the writing continued daily,as it will continue until day 100. Future entries (Days 20–100) will be posted either individually or in small batches, like the first 19. This will keep readers present and on their toes as to when new daily poems are coming. The ongoing rhythm mirrors life itself: unpredictable, urgent, and evolving.
Each poem is paired with a Poet’s Note to deepen the context. It reflects on its inspiration. It draws connections between the personal and societal, and the intimate and the global.
Day 13 – 1/2/2026
“Rhyme”
Ukraine
Palestine
Venezuela
There is no point in trying to
Rhyme
Nigeria
Iran
Sudan
Their lives the cost at the end of the billionaires
Riches
Oil, minerals
Human greed
The West strikes again to save the Middle East
American propaganda machine
Poet’s Note
In the shadow of global conflict and the Christmas night bombing in Nigeria. This poem names the human cost behind headlines. Revealing the repeated cycles of violence. Then highlighting the ways ordinary people bear the burden of power, greed, and war. This is poetry that challenges the systems that profit from oppression. Naming places directly like Venezuela, Iran, and Sudan. I want to mention this poem is about all the places affected by these systems, and the people impacted. It is a call to witness what is often ignored.
The Top level View and the Rolling hills in the distance at Mount Wood Overlook in Wheeling, WV.
Day 14 – 1/3/2026
“Warm Places, Cold World”
I am blessed to have
many warm places in a world so cold.
My home
My car
The woods
places I feel safe
Yet when the lonely days are too rough
My partner’s arms
My mother-in-law’s couch
Or friends with shared spaces
Are places I am blessed to know
On this winding road, finding pieces of home
West Virginia roads once led me there
now the memories of
the place are
scattered
everywhere
Curating a place for me
after searching eternally
Poet’s Note
Written 1/3/2026, this poem reflects on the fragments of home we find throughout life. Safety, warmth, and belonging can appear in unexpected places, from people to landscapes to fleeting moments. Home is not just geography; it is collected through memory, connection, and care.
View from the top landing of the spiral steps at Mount Wood Castle.
Day 15 – 1/4/2026
“The Same”
Swipe.
F
l
i
c
k. M o .
v e
The days on the calendar float on by,
though they always stay the same.
R l o l.
T u r n. Change….
The numbers on the clock, never showing a repeating moment….
Though, they always stay the same.
Fast-forward or reverse, wherever you choose to press play.
World history or familial ties through bloodlines, cursed or blessed, they never look the same.
Though, they always stay the same.
Who is to blame for never making the change?
Those in history? Or Those of us living through its repeats?
Poets note
This poem traces the rhythm of repetition, the illusion of movement in days, clocks, and history. Swipe, flick, turn… As we do on our phones. Then we press play, like a movie, thinking we are deciding, thinking we are moving. Yet so much is actually left unchanged. The poem artistically depicts the movements we make on our phones. As well as showing how we rewound, fast forwarded, and pressed play on VHS tapes, DVDs, and more. Using both depictions to show time and how things change yet stay the same.
The lines stretch, scatter, and move on the page like our attempts to grasp time and meaning. Showing how moments pass, events unfold, generations bear patterns… Yet in their echo, the sameness persists. Asking quietly and plainly: when cycles repeat, who holds the responsibility? Those who lived before? Or those of us who carry the weight now?
This piece is both a mirror and a map. Acting as a reflection on history’s repetitions and the intimate, daily rhythms we navigate. It acknowledges the frustration of watching patterns endure while searching for change. Poetically playing on tension between inevitability and agency.
Axton a Transgender man posing next to graffiti reminding people to chose love over hate.
Pause here with me for a moment.
Did any line, feeling, or piece here stick out or to you more? I’d love to hear the details regarding which and the ways it resonated. Think about it and tell me in the comments?
or
At the end of this post you could comment a line, quote, or your full poem. Poems from the past, that align with these daily themes are welcome, as well as those written this week.
Any and all interactions or additional conversation pieces and starters highly appreciated. We enjoy reading your creative pieces, input, takes, reviews,reflections, and all the interactions in between.
Day 16 – 1/5/2026
A micro-poem on Grief
“Goodbye, Breathe”
I wish you had
thought to
breathe your quiet
warmth inside of me
one last time
before you said
goodbye
Poet’s Note
Today’s micro-poem captures grief and the longing for a final shared moment. Its brevity emphasizes the weight of absence, memory, and the lingering warmth of those we lose. Even in few lines, poetry can cradle the unspeakable and hold the echo of those gone. This was written in the shadow of grief after the loss of my mother. “Goodbye, Breathe” works at showing how some poetry is adaptable to any type of loss. Here I leave the meaning up to interpretation by the reader yet fully convey my feelings.
A Cute Graffiti Art Cat to Brighten the Post.
Day 17 – 1/6/2026
“Circus and Cake”
Downplayed self‑care in society
Overworked, under‑lived lives….
Romanticized
You work a hundred hours a week…
Just to spend all your time off feeling weak.
You barely scrape by.
Yet you have the mind to brag
and boast.
Making the hours you waste working
a competition to make yourself feel better…
No matter how much you try to… disguise it
it’s true
They made the working-class slaves
Then we thanked them for it.
They took away the circus and the cake. And instead of throwing a fit…
we blamed each other for it
Poet’s Note
“Circus and Cake” a poem reflecting on distraction through comfort. Small pleasures and fleeting indulgences that can pacify people while systemic exploitation continues. The stolen “circus” and “cake” are symbols of joy and entertainment. Throughout history, government agencies have used bread and circuses to distract their citizens. Panem et circuses was the Latin term used to represent this. The poem highlights governmental distractions and questions readers in different ways.
What has changed in our society? We had our stability (bread, cake, food, etc) and entertainment (circus, distractions that are fun, etc) all but fully removed. Yet we remain distracted. Why?
View of West Virginia, Ohio, and the Ohio River from the Overlook In Wheeling, WV.
Day 18 – 1/7/2026
Prelude: Axton curated the piece below while sitting at Mount Wood Overlook in Wheeling, West Virginia. Also called the Castle Overlook or just the Overlook. At present time tourists and locals alike use this overlook for an array of things. Most visitors come for sightseeing, unique photography, and outdoor hangouts. Others are drawn to public murals created by the local Wheeling Art Commission. Urban-exploration also tops the list of reasons you’d find an individual visiting the overlook.
But, for creative and emotionally driven humans, this paces exists to reminisce. Grief, childhood memories, or even a longing for home. Add to that the need to unpack big things in equally big spaces, that call us places like this. Last and maybe most important a giant serving of nostalgia. And now you can truly see why the overlook fits for these needs, as well as some mischievous happenings too.
“Cremated”
And every time I come home,
it’s a little
lonelier
than the last.
And every time I come home,
I wonder if
somehow
home
has picked up
and left.
Or did I?
Was the place I knew turned to crumbled remains with you? Cremate my home right along with you?
Ashes to Ashes,
Dust to Dust,
I still
just
collect
the
pieces
along the way.
My torture evergreen.
Poet’s Note
Written at Mount Wood Overlook in Wheeling, WV. A poem that explores home, memory, and loss. Sharing Feelings of grief and loss I feel when returning to the place I grew up since the death of my mother. The loss of feeling at home since she was cremated, “Cremated” poetically describes the cremation of home. The overlook, was built in the 1920’s. It was originally supposed to house a doctor before life drama got in the way of completing it. The structure now watches over absent families and scattered histories. The overlook castle (as locals call it) also showcases wicked graffiti, which doesn’t stay the same long. Here home is collected in fragments, in memories, and in what remains. For some reason, even when it feels lonelier each time I return.
Day 19 – 1/8/2026
“Vigilante Justice”
Let’s start a fire inside the United States,
figuratively, of course.
We can start by using oppression,
hatred, and bigotry
as gasoline to fuel this movement.
Melting down ice into nonexistence.
Covering the country’s soil in fluids
other than
spilled blood
from darker complexions,
the first time in a whole fucking year….
The presidency ….
has three entire years to go, still ….
Scariest thing, if you ask me,
the collective inability to remember how things were before…
When they were just a minute fraction of the pie closer to equality
We do not want… Venezuelan oil.
We do not want to overthrow……
Greenland.
Mexico.
Canada.
We want education, affordable healthcare, workers’ rights,
equality for all
Now
OR vengeance for each and every infraction.
Come tomorrow and on.
A vigilante is what we need….
And a vigilante I may soon be.
Poet’s Note
A piece that uses fire as metaphor, representing accountability and resistance rather than destruction. It critiques complacency, systemic injustice, and the erasure of memory. Then it names the need for moral vigilance and collective action. This is poetry that refuses to stay passive in the face of oppression.
These seven days trace a path through personal and global reflection, grief, memory, and resistance. They examine cycles of oppression, moments of warmth and home. The tension between complacency and action lives in these poems. From international injustice to intimate loss. Stolen joy and moral awakening find their homes here. Poems as witness, critique, and call-to-action. Each a fragment of a daily personal creative contest. Join me in observing the world and responding with honesty, urgency, and reflection.
I feel like everyone in the world could use this advice right now.
Please feel free to share this post with anyone you think would benefit from reading these poems in any form. Have an artistic or poetic friend? Share this with them and challenge them to create one poem or piece of art every day for 100 days.
Before you go, are you interested in supporting the creative dreams and goals of a small-town Ohio poet? Axton N.O. Mitchell the voice behind Poeaxtry is a transgender man with a neurodivergent thought pattern. He has a black belt in being a mental health warrior, he earned through lived experiences. The digital creations Poeaxtry by Axton designs always align with advocacy. Axton ensures Poeaxtry and the prism always keep community care centralized.
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Poeaxtry by Axton aims to destroy pay walls. Art & Literature have often been hidden behind these. By design paywalls keep individuals who need these creations most at arms length in a lot of situations. Here we offer many ways to access forever free work. While offering paid collections and items by trade for honest reviews or other indie creations. As well as advocacy based creations for free by form to those they aim to advocate for. Free Collections For Honest Reviews Ask about trading collections, physical items, and services. Free zine for Mental Health Warriors. Free Zine for Gender nonconformists. Don’t like forms? Email me about any of the mentioned forms or any other concerns at Poeaxtry@gmail.com or reach out to me on any of my many social platforms.
Poeaxtry Links. Portfolio. Random day. A different day. This book feels relevant to the last 19 days. Thank you for reading Poeaxtry by Axton’s original poetry.
More surprisingly sound advice from graffiti in Wheeling, West Virginia.
Day ten lands in that strange quiet between calendars, when people throw confetti over unresolved harm and call it renewal.
This poem doesn’t toast the turning of the year.
It questions it.
Because remember a new date doesn’t undo old violence.
A holiday doesn’t cancel policy.
And cheer, when it’s demanded instead of earned, becomes another form of pressure.
This is for anyone who feels the dread creep in louder than the countdown.
“New Year, Same Fight”
As we get closer
to the end of this year,
I can’t even pretend
that the fear of the coming one
doesn’t outweigh the cheer.
How do I celebrate
a future where we can’t
agree to be different
and still live in harmony?
How do I look forward
to another year
of hate and policy
thrown about haphazardly,
leaving only those like you and me
standing under the terror rain?
How do you play along,
pretend everything’s okay,
celebrate a holiday
that only marks the turning of years
and never the growth of humankind?
You must be out of your god damn mind.
Give me something worth celebrating,
and with you, I will cheer.
Until then,
I already have something worth fighting for,
so I won’t be blinded
by your unwarranted holiday.
Comment one thing you’re refusing to celebrate blindly this year, and why. Or Share one value you’re carrying into the new year even when it costs you comfort.
UpPoet’s Note
This poem came from watching joy be weaponized.
From seeing celebration demanded from people who are actively being harmed by the systems others toast.
Hope isn’t confetti.
Optimism isn’t obedience.
Refusing to cheer doesn’t mean refusing to live.
Sometimes it means choosing clarity over distraction.
If this poem sounds like someone you know, someone exhausted by forced positivity, someone whose survival keeps getting labeled as “too political”… Share this with them. Or send it to the person who keeps telling you to “just focus on the good” while ignoring the cost.
Not every new year deserves applause.
Some deserve resistance, honesty, and memory.
If you’d like to support work that pushes acceptance, hope, and the refusal to accept inequality when it counts! Consider a donation via CashApp, PayPal, Ko-Fi, or Buy Me a Coffee. This helps to keep our projects and community thriving.
This is my day 8 poem for the 100 poems in 100 days contest started on threads. Here I am exploring the intersections of political power, personal trauma, and societal complicity. “Failing, Badly” titled after the ending of the merry Christmas post on his social site truth social. This poem confronts the shocking realities of public figures’ actions and the collective silence that allows abuse to continue, using visceral imagery and direct language to provoke reflection and outrage. Content warning mention on CSA and Incest aligned thinking! Do not proceed if you are not comfortable being uncomfortable.
“Failing,badly”
I began to wonder
seeing repeats of Donny’s
“truth” on December 24.
Radical leftists scum.
Would if he’d stop
riding our asses if we
pretended not to care
little girls make him cum.
Visceral visual
disgusting
disturbing
America the brave
Where are they?
Failing badly
Or
They transitioned to
America the
Blind.
To trump voters the
Mother’s and Father’s
Of girls, who voted him in
I have a
Question
How’d you vote for a man who
publicly makes taboo statements
About his own
Kid?
“if Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.”
Admitting to reoccurring times of
Bring up Incest adjacent
Attraction
on the tv screen
Now cheer for your President.
Did this make you wince, get pissed, or something more? Drop what feelings it stirred in you in the comments or even other things it reminded you about.
Poet’s Note:
I wrote this poem in response to the resurfacing of statements made by Americas first king that should disturb any human conscience. It’s intentionally loud, intentionally uncomfortable. The poem uses repetition, short lines, and stark imagery to mimic the emotional jolt of confronting truths that the people who could stop this, or care often ignore. I hope it sparks conversation, reflection, and a refusal to normalize abuse.
“Failing, Badly” is a call to awareness and accountability. It is not enough to witness wrongdoing and look away. Poetry can amplify discomfort and force reflection. This I feel can be an essential step toward change. America must confront the failures of its leaders and the complicity of its change makers and citizens, before history writes another chapter of moral collapse. Notice each one is worse than the last as history progresses? We have got to do better!
Share this poem if you please let it travel like wildfire and reach the ones who need to see it, feel it, or wrestle it. Poetry and truth deserve no quiet corners.
Day 5 showed up after a meme. It said simply “immigrants belong in Ohio.” This happens to me when the world won’t shut up long enough for the words in my mind to behave. Memes, commercials, fragments of conversations, and other randomness become lines to poetry.
This series was never meant to be polite, or evenly spaced, or emotionally neat. One poem a day for one hundred days isn’t about discipline alone, it’s about witnessing. Some days whisper. Some days yell. Some days light a match and wait. This for me is mostly about practice, honing my craft, discipline x2 yes, and seeing what my mind will produce for 100 days straight one poem every day.
“I Hope It Burns” is a refusal poem.
Not an argument.
Not a debate.
A refusal to keep explaining what has already been taught, erased, rewritten, and weaponized.
It comes from exhaustion, repetition, and the surreal experience of watching history pretend it doesn’t recognize itself.
This is day five.
I Hope It Burns
What’s going on in society today?
fuck if I know!
One thing’s for certain though
immigrants belong in Ohio
And Utah, and Maine
Washington, Texas, California
New York, West Virginia
Florida, Nevada
And the rest of the United fucking States
This is so redundant for me to
have to explain
I feel like I’m going fucking insane
Did we not learn in second grade, if not earlier,
what the fucking melting pot is?
I mean, if the only Americans are Natives,
our ancestors with palm colored skin
came here on a fucking boat,
took lives and land
How the fuck are you saying no one else can come here?
The whole damn country is built on it
Melting pot this, melting pot that,
American dream washed-up bullshit
doesn’t mean a thing
when no one’s allowed in
Would you like some crushed ice for that burn?
Poet’s Note
This poem is written from repetition fatigue.
The kind that comes from answering the same questions, hearing the same slogans, watching the same cycles spin louder instead of smarter. It is not interested in convincing anyone. It is interested in naming the absurdity of selective memory, of nationalism that forgets its own construction, of classrooms that taught one story and adults who pretend they never heard it.
The geography matters. The language matters. The anger is intentional, not decorative. This poem is not asking permission to exist, it is documenting what happens when the truth keeps getting told and ignored anyway.
“I Hope It Burns” doesn’t end with a solution because it isn’t offering one.
It ends with heat.
With consequence.
With the reminder that stories don’t disappear just because they’re inconvenient.
Day five is a pressure point. It holds tension instead of releasing it. That’s allowed. This series isn’t a ladder toward comfort, it’s a record of days lived honestly in a country that keeps pretending it doesn’t know how it got here.
Tomorrow’s poem might be quieter. Or maybe it won’t be.
Day 4 of my 100 Days of Poetry series is about those quiet loops of thought, the small moments where we forget ourselves, forget our worth, or forget who we can lean on. Sometimes the fall we’re waiting for never comes, and yet the anticipation itself shapes us. This poem is an attempt to capture that suspended space between expectation and reality.
Profound Fall
Sometimes my brain
likes to play
these little games
Sometimes I forget
that I’m worth
anything at all.
Sometimes I forget
exactly who and when
I can call
I’m counting on the fall,
the metaphorical one
that has yet to come.
Sometimes I forget
that I was even
waiting for it.
It seems this year
I turned 34,
my feet have yet
to leave the ground.
Isn’t that profound?
Poet’s note
This poem was written as a reflection on self-forgetfulness and quiet anticipation. The “fall” is intentionally open-ended, representing both what we expect from life and what we wait for internally. Writing it was about noticing those small pauses, those moments of doubt, and giving them space on the page without judgment. It’s about the tension between inertia and hope, between standing still and yearning for change.
“Profound Fall” invites readers to sit with the internal rhythm of thought and reflection. It asks us to notice where we are grounded, where we hesitate, and how waiting can be as significant as action. Sometimes the profound comes not from movement, but from awareness, from pausing long enough to see where our mind and body meet.
Every so often, a simple idea creates a creative avalanche. I’m hoping that this will be that.
Write a poem a day.
But do it for one hundred days.
Then share it publicly.
No paywall, no panel of judges, no polished submission packets, no gatekeeping. Just writers showing up where they are, writing through whatever weather they’re standing in.
I’m joining in.
Not because I want more pressure, or because I think productivity equals worth, but because poetry thrives on repetition, attention, and witness. A poem a day doesn’t have to be perfect. It has to exist. It has to respond. It has to mark time. It is practice, which we all have been told makes perfect!
For indie poets, marginalized writers, and creatives working outside institutional publishing, challenges like this matter. They create visible momentum. They pull poetry out of private notes apps and put it back into conversation. They remind us that poetry isn’t precious, it’s necessary.
This post documents my entry into the challenge, and it begins with day one, where else?
Day One of One Hundred
“Ice”
It’s cold outside,
my desire is on fire,
something more just out of
r
e
a
c
h.
The plows came through these
Appalachian city streets,
though the ice stayed
Immigrant mothers pray
for their brothers,
others try to feed their
families.
No matter the kind,
crushed ice
is my favorite.
Poet’s Note
This poem lives in the overlap between weather and policy.
Between what freezes naturally and what is enforced.
Ice shows up twice here. Once as winter, salt trucks, plows, and streets that look cleared but still aren’t safe. The other time as ICE, immigration enforcement, the quiet terror that doesn’t melt when the roads do.
Crushed ice is impact. It’s aftermath. It’s what happens when something large and heavy moves through a place and leaves fragments behind.
I didn’t want to explain the metaphor inside the poem. I wanted it to sit unresolved, because that’s how it exists in real life. Some people experience winter. Others experience surveillance. Sometimes it’s both, at the same time, in the same city.
Why This Challenge Matters to Me
Writing a poem every day for one hundred days isn’t about proving discipline. It’s about practicing attention. About letting the world interrupt me and answering back in language.
As an indie publisher, poet, and community builder through Poeaxtry and The Prism, I care deeply about visibility for small voices, especially voices that don’t get invited into traditional literary rooms. A public challenge hosted on a platform like Threads lowers the barrier to entry. It lets poets write in public without asking permission.
This is also about sustainability. One poem a day is manageable. It fits between work shifts, hikes, grief, anger, and ordinary survival. Over time, those daily poems become a record, not just of craft, but of living through a specific stretch of history.
If you’re participating too, or considering it, this is your nudge. You don’t need permission. You don’t need an audience. You just need to start.
I have decided to launch Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism Press. A free quarterly digital magazine. This publication will: spotlight creatives, single creative works, and themed collections. All while sharing indie voices, who all share different minority perspectives, and creative work in a space that’s inclusive, thoughtful, and full of surprises.
What’s inside each issue:
Poetry & Writing: Submissions paired with contributor bios, flowing naturally through the magazine.
Art &Art Pieces: Modern, bright visuals highlighting artists and creatives
. Interactive Extras: QR codes or shortened links may unlock playlists, prompt journals, collectible images, actionable self-care checklists, and so much more. *These are not guaranteed in every issue like they are in my e-zines.
Interviews & Community Features: Q&As with authors, creatives, and indie voices: full or sidebar size.
Resource Highlights & Prism Picks: Curated books, music, art, and community projects.
Trans Truth & Hot Takes Thoughts Column: Opinions and reflections from a trans man’s perspective
. Letters from Readers: Shared throughout to amplify community voices.
Call-to-Action Panels: Join The Prism community, submit work, or support Poeaxtry_ via tips, all accessible via QR codes.
Newsletter Early Access: Sign up via QR code to receive the next issue early.
Differences from e-zines& ebooks :
E-zines include a minimum of six interactive add-ons and hidden layers only visible after purchase or free download of a digital copy. The digital magazine is free, public-facing, and curated. Submissions are reviewed to fit the issue’s flow and ethos.
This is a space to read, explore, and engage. Submissions, feedback, and tips are welcome. We don’t accept violent or discriminatory content.
Get ready for our first issue. Free, quarterly, and made with care for indie voices and the creative community.
Ebooks:
50 plus poems written over a period of a few months, no theme, and some may include a playlist but that is it.
✍️ Free Publishing & Creator Support Through Poeaxtry_
Poeaxtry_ was built on the belief that everyone deserves to be seen and heard. Instead, of just those who can afford to buy their way into visibility. Through The Prism, I offer free publishing opportunities for minorities and supportive allies… on a first-come, first-served basis. Access should never be a gatekeeping game.
Each accepted project gets as much help as the creator needs: editing, formatting, layout design, covers, eBook setup, visual direction, listing on their store fronts, and a forever spot in our catalog linking to you’re store, website, whatever.
If it makes your work shine, I have accomplished my goal. Some need a single pass of edits; others want to build the look from scratch. Either way, we work together until the final piece feels right. Like it’s theirs, not just an extension of mine.
I’ll even handle the form designl if they’re unsure how to begin, or we can build it collaboratively step by step. There’s no wrong place to start, and no creative too small to deserve care and craft.
Nothing about this process is paywalled. No one is ever charged for publishing, spotlighting, or showcasing their art, words, or anything else. Book spotlights, creator features, and collection highlights — all of it stays free for minority creatives always. I do have paid avenues and ways to continue.
I don’t measure success by profit. I measure it by impact. If a creator I helped goes on to something bigger, that’s the whole point. I’ll never regret contributing to someone’s growth or seeing their art evolve beyond Poeaxtry_. That’s what this brand is built for. When I started my poet and publishing journey I decided ai wouldn’t come up without offering a hand to other minorities as well. I open doors, And I do not close them without reason.
☕ Supporting is Appreciated, Never Required
Ko-fi and Buy Me a Coffee are simply there for anyone who wants to tip or offer support . It will never be a requirement for other marginalized individuals . This is especially for creatives in marginalized communities. Every free project, collab, and spotlight stays free, always. Support is welcome, not expected. On theme contributors will have at least But up to all submissions included in our community first collabs,
