The world is overflowing with art. I started GLITCHWORDS to provide a home for some of it. Short poems. Words that can be digested in a world built on status updates.

The poems collected here stand alone. They also belong together – they are a holding of breath, an explosion of suffering, an acceptance of movement. I hope they move you as they have moved me.

Kris Hiles, EIC


Stephen Jackson

It’s so quiet

you can hear a pin

being pulled

from a hand grenade.

Stephen Jackson (he/him) lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His work has appeared in a variety of publications including The American Journal of Poetry, Chronotope, Dream Noir, Ghost City Review, Impossible Archetype, The Inflectionist Review, Quince, and Stone of Madness Press, as well as on the International Human Rights Art Festival Publishes platform. @fortyoddcrows

On Cruelty

Lilia Marie Ellis

Have you ever loved cruelty
held before your face—
its softness, eyes, its facade
lovely under the sun—
have you ever weaved
its gentle fingers in your own,
have you ever thought,
it is human beings
who are capable of this.

Lilia Marie Ellis is a trans woman poet from Houston. Her work has previously appeared/is forthcoming in publications including The Nashville Review and perhappened.


Pippa Russell

remote musings
of black and white blurred

a childhood
of electricity

playing connect the dots
until an image returns

Pippa Russell is an aspiring screenwriter, avid science fiction and fantasy fan, and the co-host of Adapt or Die, a podcast about adaptations. You can find her on Twitter at @russell_writes.

The Costly Mistake

Christine M. Estel

My new-for-seventh grade, gold-rimmed Calvin Kleins are resting
comfortably in the soft cloth, lining the case
I made for them was weak, my mother said
because “they’re too much money” we don’t even have
to get name brand things to fit in
the old pair I had to live, and
See, the CKs were gone —
into the pile of clothes under my bed? the trash? some kind vortex?
or the lost and found
during the last week of school.

Christine M. Estel is a Philadelphia-based writer and private tutor. She tweets from @EstellingAStory.

been feeling

Meredith Phipps

spectral like the wind could scatter the atoms of me out

where the light touches it hits back off of nothing
flashing out
through unvibrating space

I watch from every emptiness in the room,


Meredith Phipps (she/her) is a current undergraduate student at Barnard College where she studies English. She bounces back and forth between Manhattan and northern Indiana, and she can often be found taking long aimless walks while she writes in her notes app.

The Verbiage

Rebecca Ruvinsky

we can’t, I know how to, time to, watch me, if it won’t
anew, from the heart, before, from the beginning, I’ll make it;

here I am, the, I can’t believe we’re,
again, line, from the top, out, to believe;

where were we when it, it all, you
out, pure, as a sign, long ago, with so much feeling, to dream, to fall, pulling away

Rebecca Ruvinsky is a student, poet, and emerging writer in Orlando, Florida. She has kept a streak of writing a poem every day since 2016, with her work featured on 50-Word Stories and Poetry on the Move. She loves baking cookies, watching rocket launches, and listening to music too loud. She can be found at @writeruvinsky.

The Kill Fee

Kara Lynn Amiot

Sometimes I think that I will gladly
pay with small quakes,
with the shudder that trembles through
between those brief kisses.
But this time I feel the tremors –
deeply unsettled, almost the eruption.
Your nails are like half-moons
that bite, raising goose bumps –
raising blood.
I see the red and imagine a hot, fiery fury
spilling out on my skin,
stinging inside of my mouth,
painting the side of your face
when spit flies.

Kara Lynn Amiot is a Canadian poet and novelist. Her poetry has been featured at the Unpublishable Zine, Gutter Voices, and Revolt magazine, to name a few. Kara also features regular blackout poetry on her blog and YouTube channel, and is working towards the publication of her first novel. You can follow her on Twitter @KaraAmiot for cute pictures of her cats and the occasional quote!

missing the mark

Makaila Aarin

after years being her paramour, I became
shoes where she cannot wiggle her toes
sweaters with sleeves too short
drive-through meals with no condiments
red lines from spell check when she types one wrong letter
french fries without salt
lipstick a shade too pink.

Makaila Aarin works as an academic librarian in Mississippi where she lives with her three rescue dogs.  She holds a bachelor’s degree in English and master’s degrees in library science and education.  Her poetry has appeared in Prismatica MagazineCalliope, and other small presses.  Her work is forthcoming in Stone of Madness, The Rainbow Poems, and Sinister Wisdom. Find her on Twitter: @makaila_aarin


Emily Gregor

it’s quiet in midtown.
my train ride—quick and uneventful.
I rush up the stairs,
and the savory, greasy smell of sabrett
hits my nose—immediately.
despite being vegetarian,
I had no choice
but to enjoy a hotdog.

Emily Gregor (she/her/hers) is a marketer by day and a creative by
night. Her work usually focuses on NYC and the contrasts that make the city so seductive. She is from Nebraska and enjoys cortados and cold brews, 35mm photography, and grocery shopping.


Sanjana Rajagopal

The shoreline burns with
each touch of blood fog
to the quartered velvet sea—
the heart of the world
reduced to cindery uncertainty.

Sanjana Rajagopal is a graduate student studying philosophy in New York City. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Stone of Madness Press, Ayaskala Mag, Perhappened Mag, and L’Éphémère Review. You can find her on Twitter @SanjanaWrites, and on Instagram @astrangecharm.


John Grey

It rains
just enough
to feel as if
it could start
any minute.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.


Will D.

Airplanes wrinkle
through the fog, incandescent
shapeshifters smearing
the heavens

The moss, dew honeyed
Our limbs, lukewarm
negotiations of mint, forgiveness vetiver, demands and recourse

Tangents align in rabid
geometry from start
to goodbye, unceasing bow-wave
to the future, a cresting mountain

Will D. is a nurse by day and poet on occasion. Can be found scribbling under @ByThisWillAlone.