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  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
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    Every student at my high school has, at one point or another, brought pizzazz to Pittsburgh’s cultural district. It’s not just painting evocative murals and chalking the sidewalks with poetry—many of the students are serious philanthropists. The Visual Arts Department is participating in The N...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    She fingers the pink capped lip balm. Idly passing it from hand to hand, she uncaps it, peeling the shimmery silver wrapping back a little bit, and slides the smooth wax across her lips. She smiles remembering soft strawberry kisses....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The angel sleeps on a cotton boll filled with enough ignorance that the seeds don’t poke through. She decides what to dream about beforehand. You think she’s pretty antiseptic, but truth is her mouth’s just numb from the Novocain. Why is she faceless? I want to Sharpie little dots w...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat; kiss you strong, kiss you spiced kiss you tender I want to mark you. To leave lipstick, sweet as honeysuckle, somewhere in the vacant expression of your heart. I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat. To mold to your lips. To melt on your tongue. ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    My Grandpa wore a pen in his shirt-pocket at all times. He clipped it to his glasses case and seldom pulled it out, but it hinted at his immaculate personality. Today, he is dressed in a soft blue cotton button-down with short sleeves, his proud Jewish nose jutting out from his face as he...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You bite your nails because you have to. You have to move. Always. Your hands are old hands. They have the scars of rain-washed pavement, rough and veiny. Years of carrots, sweet tates, and lack of greasy foods have left your palms dry and orange. The fingers are strong enough to break limbs ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat; kiss you strong, kiss you spiced kiss you tender. I want to mark you. To leave lipstick, sweet as honeysuckle, somewhere in the vacant expression of your heart. I want to kiss you like slow cooked meat. To mold to your lips. To melt on your tongue....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Snowcapped spring frozen in time. Pink, half burst blossoms look cold and lonely beneath the overcast sky. Stubborn boughs stand fast, refusing to bow into the wind. The magnolia's rich colors undiluted by winter. Had it been real, I would be impressed; but thos...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You haven’t danced until you have Charlie horses in both legs your face is permanent pink, and it takes days to recover. I like raw, unchecked release on the dance floor. Lose your inhibitions! I like firm grapes and crisp apples. They get stuck in my braces. I like dar...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A hand dry, cracked, brown, cupping an aged metal spoon. Black-blue fingernails and parched, textured skin; veins pushing to the surface, yellowed. Yellow and stone white shot through flesh. It is a sign of grime, of injustice, of the rust that coats the shallow, twisted l...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Look at the stars! they are the glitter of a dragonfly’s wing, the shine of an oyster’s pearl, the snowflake caught in your lashes. I will snatch one from the sky, little Firefly, and press it to your cheek. Where we touch, our skin burns your hair glows with ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I have an I heart question mark written on the back of my hand. I don't know what it is I feel when I'm around you. Confusing. You are like a Pu z zl e to me. I'm pretty sure you like me, too. Who makes you feel the way that I make you feel? I l...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The poem I Like The Wind, by Robert Wrigley, uses a lot of literary elements, and a very interesting choice in topic. The first couple of lines are very significant to me: “We are at or near the approximate line/where a stiff breeze becomes/or lapses from a considerable wind,/and I like it here, t...
  • Nonfiction > Academic
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    I think that “Monet's Waterlilies,” by Robert Hayden, is a very profound and contemplative poem. In this piece, he demonstrates metaphor, in the line, “the seen, the known/dissolve in iridescence, become/illusive flesh of light/;” simile, when he says, “the eye like the eye of faith b...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I slam the heavy, chipped red paint door and leap from the fifth step of our cement porch onto the sidewalk, feeling the hard landing on my feet. Wrenching open the rusty white gate, I feel a wave of cold air whip my hair back. I burrow deep into my downy, insulated black coat, and head down Reynold...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    The newly finished wooden floor burns the small of my back, heated by the warm, lazy air from the heating vent beneath the kitchen cupboards. My parents spent a fortune on this floor, a huge improvement from the previous- peeling black and white tiles. I roll onto my back and breathe in my cat’s t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Searing, spreading, vengeful cancer, Seeking vulnerable areas to feed upon. Cancer poisoning The most honest, sweet, Undeserving people. Cloying, foul, and soured cancer, like old socks. Like the flesh of a withered peach, reeking of moths. Disgusting. Is there even a cure To be fo...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    The treasure of thy precious chest so rare Thou must protect until thy betrothal If thou might seek the tender hand of lust Search not here or thou shall commit a sin Thou shall be consumed in wallowing grief If thou should not reveal thy belov’d jewel Then a day shall come when thou shall...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    My brother Max and I have always had a very special relationship. I have one with Woody also, but Max and I have more in common. When Max and I were younger, he cried a lot. He always had trouble with the children at his school. My family would always try to comfort him with words, but he would ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    D'juna Sterling was named after a model in Victoria's Secret. A model with glossy red hair, bright green eyes, and best of all, a slim, curvy figure. D'juna looked nothing like her namesake. She had a greasy black bob and glittering blue eyes; she was four feet eleven inches, and he...

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