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  • Hot Topics > What Matters
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    I used to think that the best thing you could do in the world is help someone else, completely selflessly, without expecting anything in return. Don't get me wrong, I still believe this is incredibly important. But something else now tops it in my life- being self reliant, and finding joy in yo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I’m writing poems to the world to the flying to the found to the simply fading sound of every word that’s ever spoken to the broken to the hollow to the brink of no tomorrow to the path we meant to follow ‘till the edge of no return I’m writing poems to just hardly to the nothings...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It’s too late for me to die young grew up like a weed but I’m scared of the sunlight living under rain clouds so I’m sickly pale in my heart and my petals I litter the ground like raindrops or alkali tears salt water fills the dead sea floating like flowers and I can’t see thro...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Ignoring people Is easy for me- I've been doing it my Whole life, but With you, It's Especially so. Your Bold Slow Cold smile Deforming your lips And your bottomless Dark eyes are not ones my gaze Deigns To find. But I feel you Messages from peripheral Visions, Your ici...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I hear your voice everywhere Echoing in the hallways- Out of the wrong mouth. Faces distorted with your dark hair Eyes morphed to your lupine shadows My reflection in the window Is empty without yours beside it The sharp smoothness of your teeth. Cut through my mind like it is water My ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Sweet and silver Black and bitter Love in summer Pain in winter Smile so bold Now all alone Heart of gold Heart of stone Silver strand and black entwine Flower of a single vine...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    My hand combs through my hair, over and over, roughly yanking the silky strands. I have been trying to kick this habit for years now, and yet no matter if I twirl, yank, or braid, subconsciously my hands are always in the red-auburn mass. It disgusts me to see how much I pull out, I have never neede...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    That first day, so simple, we saw each other across the room. I thought, "Jock" and dismissed you to talk to my usual crowd. But as I talked to b****es with inch thick make-up and felt fat and ugly and under dressed, my usual reaction to my friends, I felt your eyes on me again. I ignored ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Watching my friends dance is like watching someone carve a woman out of a block of wood. The intricate shapes emerge one by one and I see them practice from a crude sketch to a polished lady but I cannot fathom how they do it. I watch their bodies contort themselves into beauty and I see joy in thei...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    They speak a different language, they who act like my life is not the nothing it is. A language of put-down smiles, secret glances, pity welling in their perfectly made up eyes. I don't like them. I don't like them thinking they change my life with a single act of kindness. I've known...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    It was in the hours that some called late night and others very early morning, the transition periods, when she would wake. The darkness would surround her little room, and she’d turn on her light, making an island in it, all her own. Before the world became complicated, she would just stare out t...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    It's three seventeen in the morning and I just looked through all 318 pictures of you on Facebook. I feel like a stalker but I can't help it, I haven't seen you in two months and I miss the intensity of your eyes. When I see the pictures of you where you smile too wide or pose like yo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    little hands the box you can't reach even on your toes you'll get taller.. they say with time you'll get older with time time... don't wait go find a ladder there's not always time... big hands holding a box of pictures of little hands...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I lie in bed with the covers up to my chin, pretending I don't care if he ever texts back. My phone buzzes and I jump to grab it. The text says, "i srry. u ok?" Am I okay? I'm about as okay as anyone can expect me to be after what he did to me. Which is to say, not at all. ...
  • Poetry > Song Lyrics
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    (macabre music) I'm the director I work behind the scenes I'm the one who makes it run like an oiled machine I'm the one who pulls the string that sews it at the seems so it seems I'm the face behind the mask I'm the one who does the task how I do it, never ask ...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    REPORT OF SOCIAL SERVICES OFFICER JAMES MUNROE: When we checked the hollow your team found it was revealed to be an old super-market sir. We found no one alive, but we did find something scratched all down the walls, sir. It read as follows: It didn't happen the way everyone thought it woul...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    I searched his eyes carefully, scanning them for any sign of emotion, any life behind the dull, dead blue ice of his irises. I had no time for regret. I pulled the silver gray knife out of the cooler, touched it's slim cold edge to his neck, nicking it slightly. I watched as the crimson droplet...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    she sat in the corner weighed down by the music watching sweaty bodies, all around her dancing to it She closed her eyes felt the rhythm deeper listened to the notes letting the melodies keep her She slowly got up was swallowed by the crowed dancing on a high that felt illegal bu...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    His sweaty arms wrap around my neck like the world's worst smelling scarf, his little red shoes cinch my sides. My little brother's damp breath warms the back of my neck, his head rests on my shoulder. Walking home with him never is a chore, like most of my friends would see it. It...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    He led a band, she played piano. He was a bass, she sang soprano. He ripped his close as she put patches on. He forgot the words so she wrote a new song. He took her hand and touched her heart, she held his fingers and made a new start. He's scared of heart break, hers had shattered before. B...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The boy cries in the back of his mother's beat up van. His big wet eyes have seen things no kid his age should see. He clings onto his kitten, as if he thinks they will take it too. The tiny skin-and-bones cat looks as out of luck as he does. Both of their ribs show, under fur or a too-thin shi...

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