Hey everyone!

Long time no post. I’ve been absolutely slammed but while I have a minute or two, I thought I’d check in and let you know what I’ve been up to and let you all know about some exciting opportunities.

Some of you will remember the Letters from Prison Portal here, where Paul and I would visit prison, teach writing workshops, and post their pieces here. This is where PoetsIN was born. Paul and I realised that writing was a form of therapy and the prisoners were reporting astounding results.

After parting ways with Prose, we tailored our groups further with an emphasis on rehabilitation, mental illness, and suicide prevention. We began to measure the outcomes of each session, and over a set period of time had evidence that what we do worked with 99% of the service users. To put this into perspective, CBT in the UK via the NHS works in 48% of the cases they work with. If CBT doesn’t work, the service user is given no other therapy. Talking therapy such as counselling is no longer provided on the NHS because that was only successful 29% of the time, which is way below the threshold of success the NHS will work with.

With our 99% success rate we went to the UK Charity Commission. Wrote our governing document, recruited 5 trustees, filled in a ridiculously long application form to register as a charity, and submitted it. Then we waited.

Whilst we sat thinking of all the things we could’ve included in our application but didn’t, and worrying about all the things we may have done wrong, we carried on with our groups. Expanding them and trialling new techniques and measures of capturing data to ensure maximum impact. We got such good feedback from the prison directors that we were offered a grant from a trust for $50k - before we were even a charity - which is unheard of. Visit www.poetsin.com/testimonials to see what people have been saying about what we do.

Four months passed and we finally received our answer. We’d done it! We were a charity.

Since then we have won three awards. We were named Mental Health Heroes 2017 alongside Talia Bennington, Mental health workshop provider of the year 2018, and Nonprofit of the Year 2018. We have also employed some faces you may recognise. The lovely Karen, who used to design Prose images, the badass Lish, and we’ve just hired a wonderful fundraiser, Pippa. MilesNowhere and Amanda Cary have also joined the family and have been vital to PoetsIN, and my own personal sanity.

We are now a week away from launching online writing therapy groups that people can access from wherever they’re located, along with in-community groups external to prisons across certain parts of the UK to begin with.

We also have a growing Facebook Group (www.facebook.com/groups/poetsin) that is full of old faces from here and new faces from beyond, along with a website that has mental health and writing blogs galore.

We’ve opened our own publishing company, PoetsIN Publishing, that offers the best royalties EVER and any royalties taken by PoetsIN Publishing are all ploughed back into the charity to reach more people who need our help. The best thing about the publishing company is that we want to publish poetry. Many traditional publishers don’t. We do. We are publishing print and eBooks, and have already accepted submissions that will be released this year.

We have a current challenge running for an anthology. Our first anthology open submission call was a huge success and will be published within the next month - we’re just putting the final touches to it. The current submission call is on the topic of addiction, and you are all more than welcome to submit! The more the merrier. Visit this link to submit https://buff.ly/2EdHxwe

Those of you in the UK should come down to our huge all day fundraising event in Camden, London 28th July. It is being held at the iconic Nambucca venue that has housed Oasis, Blur, and many more. We have a full day of amazing lineups from spoken word poets, comedians, and acoustic and indie music. All acts are donating their talents and time to us for free along with many companies who have donated prizes that we will raffle and auction off at the event. We also have a Skydive coming up in September, more details about that can be found on our social networks.

There have been people that doubted Paul and I - along with our mission - but our determination, skills, and experience have served us well, built our confidence, and given a much-needed lifeline to those that truly needed keeping safe.

Setting up a charity is far harder than setting up a business, and if we can do that, you guys can do anything. One word, one poem, one story at a time.

Paul and I both hope you’ll join us elsewhere on the interwebs but in the meantime, write on!

#PoetsIN #PoetsINPrison #Charity #NPO #Publishing #WritingContests #GetPublished #Poetry #InsideOut

Magic

All around us

I feel it moving in the air

Spirits gliding

Flying by our side

Will they be leaving soon?

The great wave of power

All in one’s hands

Ready to be put to good use

Words hold might

A voice full of light

One that speaks right

#5-minutemindDoodle

Running makes me happy and free

Especially running by the sea

I like to run every day

I’d rather run than stop and play

People ask why I run

I tell them it is great fun

It is also a healthy habit

I can run just like a rabbit

You should run, fast or slow

Just keep your body on the go

Too many people sit and stop

Then gorge on food until they pop

Put down that greasy steak

Throw away that sugary cake

Get up out of that comfy chair

Find some running shoes to wear

Get yourself out on that street

Other runners you may meet

Out in the sun is where I’ll be

Running makes me happy and free.

Galaxies

A milky way

Full of stardust

And falling stars

We wish

As they fall

That we may fall as well

Longing to kiss

Under Haley's Comet

Lips so soft and true

While we are falling forwards through this blue haze of time

Remember this: gravity is not a line and neither are you

Remember things are always changing and it's not your fault

Sometimes it's my fault and sometimes it's nobody's

Remember I will always be apologizing for the things I haven't done

What I should have done: stayed by your side into eternity

But I haven't before

And I won't always

Remember I am flawed, even more flawed than you

(we are always laughing or crying about this)

I don't want to say there's nothing you can do

Remember, there is always something you can do

And sometimes that something isn't anything

Remember this and remember me:

You are not a line, you are a circle

Always returning to our point in space

Even after I leave you to drift alone through the vagueness of reality

When I wrote this I died.

- Oh, do not be too worried

For when I say died

What I really mean is my elementary school teacher

Never taught me the proper use of hyperbole

When I wrote this I fell apart

- But do not waste your sorrow on me

For when I say I’m falling apart

What I really mean is the pencil shavings of my heart

Fell into stanzas, placing my punctuation in the weirdest of places

Fucking up my basic understanding of American Grammar

For instance

When I write my name

A question mark appears

As if I do not know; who I am

As if I am calling out to some Greater darkness

Looking for some lost child who wandered off the path

At some mediocre, cringe-worthy school field trip

Where girls were felt up for the first time

And guys were making fart noises! into the palms of their hand

- Scratch that, I mean where girls were making fart noises! into the palms of their

hands, but it was this huge secret that no one wanted to talk about.

For instance

When I write the word life.

This half-hearted period appears

As if something is supposed to end

But the huge secret is that my heart is too cowardly

To fill in the entire period

So rather than end, the word Life. kind of just fumbles

Into the middle of a sentence; with no real emphasis

Not stopping, but still stalling:

- Scratch that, my heart is not so much cowardly as it is lazy and surprisingly enough,

living is so much easier than dying.

When I wrote this my stomach disappeared

- Oh, but I am not hungry, so please do not offer me a sandwhich

For when I say my stomach disappeared

What I really mean is my stomach turned into a giant pebble

And some jank ass! bird named anxiety took it in its mouth

And flew off with it to never never land! to reside with my fleeting childhood

When I wrote this I let my hair down

- But please do not analyze that as a liberation. of the American woman

For when I say I let my hair down

What I really mean is this girl - from my fleeting childhood - told me it looked pretty

Then took advantage of my young heart and innocent desire for a friend

Even if that “friend” only wanted me for a game of “doctor”

For instance

When I wear my hair up for too long

I start to cry and yell my (questionable identity) into the warm side of the pillow

Because when my hair is up

The only thing I can feel is a - warm touch -

And the word pretty! flicking against my skull

Like a hair tie made of adamantium

- Scratch that, I think it’s just that overwhelming feeling you get when the trauma

comes back and tries to kill you again because the first time wasn’t enough fun.

For instance

When I coughed up those 37 aspirins

My brain got a little funky!

And my language fell apart

So my depression and I could not laugh properly

Therefore the only real solution is to attempt it again and again

Until my depression can muster a hearty laugh without vomiting into the bathroom drain

Because that would make the clean up easier for everyone and we all love a good laugh

- Scratch that, laughter is not always the best medicine, for when involved with

depression it kind of crosses that line and becomes more of a poison.

When I wrote this I smiled

- But don’t worry I’m not shredding you with sarcasm this time

For when I say I smiled

What I really mean is I !actually! smiled

Because sometimes my cynical nature can be a bit funny

And I like to poke fun at my shitty life

Because it makes it kind of bearable

When I wrote this I lived

- Oh, you can clap now, or snap because this is a poem and I’m trying to pretend

you’re not incredibly uncultured

For when I say I lived

What I really mean is I deserve a snap-apalooza

Because I jumped off a cliff - called insanity - and into a stanza

Falling into a place where my mind finally had some sense of breathing again

A place where my melancholy heart didn’t make it through the cataclysm of aliveness

Because

when I wrote this

I died.

Rain

Dropping

From the skies

Like the eye lids

And pupils

Of a human

Soaking the ground

We walk on

K.j.a. (c) 2017

If you shook my hand

Would our eyes meet

If we were just strangers

That passed on the street

Would you smile back

Or look to my feet

If we were friends

Would you be discreet

Or know me openly

Through my defeats

If the train was crowded

Would you make me a seat

Or spread your legs wider

Be block up complete

If we’d just met would

You be willing to treat

Me with respect or

Just make me petite

If you are lesser and

Choose to mistreat

Know that I’ll best you

With a smile so sweet

Today I got picked on

And told that I smelled

Pointed and laughed at

For every fat cell

Pushed down and kicked

As tears started to well

The mocking got worse

A deafening yell

I buried my face

Trying to shell

Myself up away

But I was in hell

Each name hurt deeper

Bruised up and swelled

Chipped down and broke

Treated unwell

Right before blackout

I bid my farewells

But dark never came

And it’s just as well

The insults won’t stop

The bully’s myself