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Amethyst
Amethyst is a hauntingly beautiful tapestry of poetry that weaves together identity, pain, rebirth, and the search for meaning. Divided into chromatic sections named after shades of purple, each representing a facet of human experience, the book feels like an odyssey through the inner worlds of selfhood and survival. It moves from loss and trauma to reclamation and transcendence, painting scenes of queerness, masculinity, intimacy, and existential ache. Every poem feels like a fragment of a larger confession, tender yet defiant, fragile yet ferociously self-aware. Author Fernando Rover Jr.’s voice is raw, rhythmic, and unapologetically human, like someone whispering truth through a cracked mirror.
Reading this book shook something in me. The language hits hard, sometimes uncomfortably close. There’s this honest grit in how Rover writes about love and pain, as if he’s bleeding on purpose to show that healing isn’t always graceful. Some lines feel like quiet prayers; others explode with profanity and rebellion. I love how he blends vulnerability with resistance, how “Problem Child” snarls right before “Father Hunger” breaks your heart. There’s a rhythm here that doesn’t care about convention. He’s not writing poetry for classrooms or critics, he’s writing to survive. And I felt that. The work feels alive in its contradictions, full of sadness and rage, yet bursting with this strange hope that we can build beauty from our bruises.
But what struck me even more was how Amethyst feels like both a mirror and a map. It asks hard questions about who we are when the world makes us feel unworthy. Sometimes it feels like a séance with the self, a way of calling lost parts of you back home. I caught myself rereading lines just to let them sting again. The collection is fearless in its queerness and in its refusal to make trauma tidy. There’s humor in the mess, too, and flashes of warmth that feel earned.
I’d recommend Amethyst to anyone who’s been cracked open by life and wants to believe that brokenness can still be beautiful. It’s for readers who crave raw emotion and unfiltered truth, who don’t mind getting lost in someone else’s chaos to find their own calm.
Pages: 67 | ASIN : B0FX9F4Y41
Representation is Lifesaving
Sadness & Sadness Accessories is a raw, vulnerable, and unapologetically human collection of poetry that explores identity, trauma, queerness, grief, and resilience with a voice that is equal parts tender and ferocious. What inspired you to write this particular collection of poems?
There are poems in this collection that I wrote ten or fifteen years ago when I started writing, but the energy and depth of the poems transformed when I transitioned three years ago. All at once, my body was aligned with my spirit, and the poems poured out of me. I did a lot of healing in a short amount of time after I lost my job because of my transition. So much pain in my life that was repressed by PTSD or numbed by disassociation and dysphoria was screaming in my ear. I had so many things to say all at once, and for the first time, they were coming from me. The true me. I processed a lot of this pain via writing, and these words healed me greatly.
But as I think is always true for anything I write, I wanted to put out into the world what I couldn’t find and what I wish I had when I was younger. I didn’t read any trans authors growing up. I didn’t even meet a trans woman until my thirties. Without the words for my pain or hopes, I felt alone and lost. Representation isn’t just a cute marketing line; it’s lifesaving. There are other trans girls in their eggs out in the world who may be helped just a little bit by my poems, and that’s why it’s out and had to happen. And to my various cis friends and allies, I wanted to do my best to present dysphoria and euphoria. That was a big part in writing “Musth,” just trying to put language on something that baffles even my strongest supporters.
What was the biggest challenge you faced in putting together this poetry collection?
I would say it was facing the pain presented in these poems, but honestly, the hardest part was trying to balance grief and hope. Unfortunately, much of my poetry is an attempt to manage my sorrow, but I never want to present being trans as a life of pain and torment because the truth is that our joy is world-shaping. Poetry is a place I visit when I want comfort, and I wanted to come to that place with my delights. Poems about my cat, about the sweet sound of pages turning, and about cold glasses of Dr. Pepper were all essential to keep this book from becoming a pity-party, to represent more accurately that being trans isn’t just dysphoria but heaps of euphoria, and to keep the energy of the book from dragging out and driving the reader insane.
How has this poetry book changed you as a writer, or what did you learn about yourself through writing it?
Writing is how I explain myself to myself. The first poem I ever wrote was a lesbian love poem, but at the time, I thought I was male. It was an overwhelming outpouring of emotion, and it felt right, but as soon as I finished, I felt I had stepped into a room where I wasn’t welcome. I felt like an intruder. But I had no idea what my brain was trying to tell me, and to this day, my own poetry surprises me as it shows me areas of myself I haven’t fully uncovered. I learned about the repressed memories of abuse I suffered at the hands of my parents when the words and images appeared in my poems. Then I went back, flipped through poems I’d been writing for decades, and found the information there the whole time.
But all of that to say that this book healed me. Everything inside of me felt chaotic and noisy, and I had no means to turn on the lights and look into that darkness. Finding the images of my childhood helped me pull out memories of hiding from my parents. It showed me the joy in dancing to Britney Spears in my sister’s bedroom and something about it feeling right and foreign, forbidden and all I’ve ever wanted. It was therapy, and for so long, it felt too vain to put that onto paper and charge people money for it. However, I had many friends, readers, and audiences at open-mic performances, they felt certain that others would benefit from my words, and that they were worthy of sharing. So this book taught me that my words mattered, even if they were ugly and full of pain.
What is the next book that you are working on and when can your fans expect it to be out?
I write in many different genres, and I am working on a collection of YA fantasy novels. They are about a boy named Finn who discovers he can fall into his favorite books to meet his favorite characters and live their adventures. In the first book, The Fullness of Time, which is out now, Finn goes into a book about a young King Arthur, but when the plot goes wrong, he finds his presence might cause the story to be changed for the worst forever. The second book in that trilogy will be coming out later this year, Music of the Spheres. In it, Finn galls into Little Women and falls in love with Beth March. However, if anyone has read Little Women, they will know exactly why Finn desperately wants to change the ending of this book forever. It is very much in line with Sadness & Sadness Accessories as it explores grief, hope, and beauty.
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Sadness & Sadness Accessories
Aurora Hatchel’s Sadness & Sadness Accessories is raw, vulnerable, and unapologetically human. Through deeply personal narratives, Hatchel explores identity, trauma, queerness, grief, and resilience with a voice that is equal parts tender and ferocious. The poems move fluidly between confessional honesty and lyrical beauty, blending biting social critique with moments of heart-wrenching intimacy. It’s a book that stares sadness in the face and refuses to look away.
What I love most about this collection is its unflinching emotional honesty. The opening poem, “I’ll never kill myself but—,” is breathtakingly stark in its confrontation with suicidal ideation, religious trauma, and the weight of survival. The imagery is staggering—the Abyss becomes a lover, the past lingers like an unwanted shadow, and hope is a fragile, wavering force. As a teacher, I wish more of my students could read poetry like this—poetry that doesn’t just dance around difficult emotions but drags them into the light and examines them without shame. Hatchel’s ability to make pain both deeply personal and universally resonant is a gift.
Another standout piece, “A Rejection Letter for JK Rowling,” is sharp, witty, and righteous in its fury. It’s a scathing critique of transphobia wrapped in humor and literary brilliance. It doesn’t just call Rowling out—it reclaims the magic that she failed to wield responsibly. Hatchel’s poetry doesn’t just grieve; it fights back, and that’s a necessary act of resistance in a world that too often silences marginalized voices.
But it’s not all pain and defiance. There’s joy here too. “Trans Joy” is an anthem of survival, celebration, and self-love. Hatchel writes about finding beauty in small moments, from the perfect pair of jeans to the simple act of existing as her true self. There’s something incredibly moving about reading a poem that acknowledges suffering but refuses to let it be the whole story.
Sadness & Sadness Accessories is not a light read, but it’s an important one. This book is for anyone who has ever felt like an outsider, for those who have wrestled with faith and family, and for anyone who needs to be reminded that survival is an act of defiance, and poetry can be a lifeline.
Pages: 79 | ASIN : B0DCRP3WH9
LITERARY TITAN 