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  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I almost laughed out loud when the couple held hands so tightly they barely made it through the door. He had blond Jesus hair, she with black makeup smeared under her eyes. Hanging on for dear life, they realized the frame was too narrow too late but tried charging through it anyway, as if their lov...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    This morning feels clean and crisp and grand, the happy weather an apology for the inherent ache attached to Monday. Sunshine hits the few leaves left clinging to cold November branches, letting subtle flickers of fall win through. When coordinated by the breeze, however, the trees are set ablaze. C...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’m swinging on the blue swings and imagining the cemetery across the field even though it’s hidden now by how the summer’s made everything grow. I’m licking ice cream piled a foot high with my best friend. I’m sitting on the pier I’ll never stop going to and watching the sailboats come ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    There are so many people to love. We were walking downtown last night and I looked at all the people watching us walk by, looked right into their eyes, and almost laughed out loud at how happy I was. All I need is a beautiful boy across the street, looking at me for a fast second with a look I’ll ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    In another world I said the right things and was invited on that trip instead of her so you started to like me instead of her. It was us sitting in the blue booth at that China Buffet, fumbling with our chopsticks and laughing nervously. We were the ones swaying to crappy slow songs in the middle of...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    The first white dress was gender neutral and sewn to put on a clean and untouched baby. The white was crisp and new just like me, my eyes, my mind. I had not seen pain or felt it, not the real kind. Not the kind that matters. They dipped me and my perfect white dress in water and smiled, thinking th...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    There are a lot of dinners. You decide to leave and suddenly everyone wants to go to dinner, get to know you, contribute their bit before you decide not to come back anymore. Or before they aren’t there to come back to. Years and years and hours of holiday small talk and now they want substance -...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    There are so many incandescent moments; times when the place and people are just right, righter than I use to think they could be, and all there is to do is live in it, look around and feel ridiculously lucky to have been born into a world so chalk full of moments like this. The beauty rips me open ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’m stuck so deep down into myself that the only way I can say the things I honestly, uncensordly, unempathetically feel is by writing them down while sitting alone in a room with a window view. With all the courage I can muster I give them to people so they can see that I have so many more though...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Just let me watch the buildings. From inside the car, my parents talking quietly in front, me alone in the back, the summer breeze I dream about in January pushes my hair back and I can watch everything without having to participate. No one asks me impossible questions, or looks at me like I’m str...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    He got a letter in the mail about school registration. The world keeps spinning. The lockers will still be green, even if I’m not there. The teachers will read rules on the first day, the freshman be wide-eyed, the seniors will question everything. There will be football games and marching band an...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Let’s go back to New York, or even just the little hotel in New Jersey you have to zoom through the tunnel from the city to get to. Let’s sit in the smooth but not soft chairs until they tell us we have to go to bed because we’re still little, we don’t feel little but we are. Let’s laugh l...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’m alive again and I’m not sure how it happened but I’m grateful that it did. Maybe it’s all the sleep or the coffee this morning is extra strong or it’s pms-ing in reverse but right now it doesn’t matter so much because in contrast to the last few days I’m able to really breathe. ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    It doesn’t matter. None of it matters at all. Your C+ in AP Calculus is the best that you can do. Honor Roll and High Honor Roll and class rank and GPA are bullshit and you know it, you know it. You know that this, high school, is a blip and in a week you’ll know if you’re accepted or rej...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I can’t write anymore because. You see! I can’t even think of a clever reason. It’s the anxiety, again. It’s crawling back. It’s slowly winding around my fragile lungs; and they aren’t fragile because I’m pretty in any delicate way, but because they must be for the fact that anyti...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’m so sick of being told what to do. And God if I’m not the spitting cliche, the creme de la creme of bitter teenagers, the one and only angsty 18-year-old in the world. But it’s too true these days. There are so many rules that aren’t worth following. There are so many instructions tha...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I think about this Billy Collins poem sometimes, about slow dancing as the world ends. And sometimes it feels like that, even when I’m alone and the world isn’t ending. He writes about the floor caving in as the couple glides gracefully across it, ignoring their untimely ending, and I picture th...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I don’t know how to make it stop hurting, it meaning everything. I do the dishes. Today I’m so afraid they’ll break, I place them down extra carefully. He reads the announcement that he has to and my hands shake. A boy cries. He asks us questions but I can’t even move. We knew it was comi...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I can see them all standing in pews with their parents, hands together and heads looking down. I can see their wrinkly dress shirts loosely tucked in, their nice shoes always a size too small. I wonder when boys stop being boys. Surely these sad-looking men with serious eyes aren’t the same kid...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I’m angry for no reason. I’m mad because I’m weak; falling apart at all ends. I’m mad because all I do is lie on the couch and feel useless, tracing my bruises to see if they’re still there. I’m angry because all my days feel like a terrible waste, and I know this is not an original fee...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Did you know, I can’t eat pancakes anymore And that my dog died too long ago and it still hurts most days and nights And did you know, that sometimes I can’t look at my friends because I don’t think they can see me as much as I had hoped and that I don’t try nearly as hard as t...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    How can you look at someone and love them just because you know them better than most people ever will? How can you forget those sweaty kindergarden days out in the sun, running and running and thinking you won’t ever stop? How do you let go of the January recesses spent hurling down snowbanks and...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    There’s a restaurant I go to sometimes with my parents that sits across the road from one of two lakes in the city. It’s a nice place but not the kind of nice where you tug at your clothes nervously or get confused by the number of forks next to your plate. Just nice enough. The smell of hot ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I like my wrists. Even when I feel like complete and utter s***, I can look down at the tanned skin covering the bones that connect my hands to me and feel okay. They are always skinny and exactly the same. They are always a part of me I like. Turn them over and see the veins running under my fragil...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I had a dream that the world was ending. We (me and a few people I don’t know or remember) were walking through the woods and the light was so perfect, just the way Emily Dickinson said it would be, and I couldn’t stop crying but nobody else seemed to care. The sea was coming in and there was no...

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