SUBMIT - JUNE 30TH - JULY 10TH THEME FOR ISSUE 3 IS…. 1960's ! ​ ISSUE 3 Pinterest board for inspo—https://pin.it/Tzv9OrlzY GET YOUR PIECES READY!! ​ ISSUE 3 OUT JULY 15th EMAIL ANY SUBMISSON (max 2 per person) To: stargirlcollective.contact@gmail.com for the subject include: catergory (ex:poetry,prose,fiction,art etc), and name/alias in the email please include: the piece(s) in the form of a pdf/png , any preferred formatting info, any links or social media you want credit

I. OMEN The Tower keeps flashing before my sorrowful eyes because apparently the universe believes in repetition. Apparently, collapse is not a singular event but a decorating style. The repetition opposes all normality in my mind. Flashing words that tell me the problem with becoming beautiful on purpose is that eventually your reflection starts to feel employed. The Devil waits for me in the polished silver of my chamber mirror, reflecting my makeup like bruises, hiding my

She, draped in dread and misery Offers an outstretched hand From her Empire of empathy She keeps the score Tallies doubt Feels your blood and Your shame Weighs your life in a Goblet and a single breath Truth prevails in her court She cares not for Feudal hierarchy Nor social tyranny Such burden Falls on the shoulder of a deity To make her ruling She will look past you And through your pain Find a child in a puddle That does not yet know Their name She gives

The moment you stepped into my court My stomach whispered “Your majesty, don’t trust her.” The people saw the doubt in my silk white eyes I Heard their pleas “Your majesty, give the lady a chance.” I am not unreasonable I offered you a simple dance You managed to charm me With your talk of the stars And how I was your moon Shining on the dark night of your life I let myself swoon for a moment Then i felt a sharp pain upon my foot A silver steel shoe Digging into my toe Beads

By vespers they had hauled him from the earth,boot soles slick with spring mud, wrists smelling of iron,and strung him from the oak beyond the abbey wallwhere crows nested among last year’s acornslike black thoughts caught in the branches. A priest stood beneath the beam in wool dark as wet bark,speaking of judgment and flame and the narrow gate,but his words keep breaking apart in the wind,snagging in the branches above like scraps of cloth.Above him is a man made to climb,

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SUBMISSONS OPEN MAY 25TH-JUNE 2ND THEME FOR ISSUE 2 IS…. tarot medieval fantasy ! choose a tarot card and write a piece about it inspired by medieval and fairytale/fantasy imagery submissions will be open May 25th- June 2nd list of all tarot cards — share.google/EyLShqYtxD… ISSUE 2 Pinterest board for inspo—pin.it/5JnnEMk2h GET YOUR PIECES READY!! ISSUE 2 OUT JUNE 15th ALL SUBMISSON INFO UNDER SUBMISSON ON STARGIRLCOLLECTIVE.COM

A guiding force Not a hand leading me directly But subtle Tap, tap On my shoulder Morse code Telling me Which way you think I should go You’re advice Never a scream Always a whisper A gentle call To the days when we were girls With maintained innocence Not yet ruined by the onlookers Wind through the grass Is how you tell me Not to be brash With my decisions Let them down delicately By the pond Condition serenity in them To soften the blow Wild horse in the fields Is how you

I find myself reaching For the personals of the paper Like a broken record Needle looking for the lost groove I hold only the sheets Ink latching to my pink skin Red from the sun so often forgotten Does it still exist in the winter months? This paper does not have The sheets that I like to read This one is empty and bland A soulless creature with no dignity The weekly paper reminds me of my father He delivered them one summer Back when I was younger Though not much younger th

I swallowed God whole and he curdled into guilt. My knees are raw and the pews are worn. My voice can barely scream anymore. I am God's little lamb, all pretty and perfect. He will let me graze and he will proclaim to the crowds that he is my Shepherd. There is nothing more that I shall want. I want to be free. Out of this field. Away from you. My knees are raw and the pews are worn. My voice can barely scream anymore. My God wants me for himself. If I am not his then what am

I don’t pull cards because I think the future is hiding inside paper. I mean, okay, maybe sometimes I do. I’m dramatic. I want answers. I want the universe to send me a tiny little permission slip that says, “yes, darling, you’re safe, you’re loved, you’re not making everything up in your head.” But that’s not really why I keep coming back to tarot. I pull cards because sometimes my feelings are too loud to understand without a symbol in front of me. Sometimes I know somethin

They think they know me. That they see me. And that is their first mistake, though I don't blame them. There is a way that this city looks at you, with its soft focus at sunset. Through a filter of smog and haze, it creates a beautiful and brilliant illusion. And I learned to exist under that golden light. They like to decide about you here, what you are, right away. “What do you do?” “Where are you from?” I did not know that my value would immediately rely on these questions