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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    How old were you? When you first felt the tingle in your belly when you looked at someone When your brother told you about sex, with breath that smelled of hotdogs, laughing at your horror When you asked your mom to buy you a bra, even though your chest was so flat you were practically inve...
  • Poetry > Song Lyrics
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    Bright eyes, shining the way that they do As I stand there, staring at you You caught my eye as we passed in the crowd I still remember you know Made me believe that life is wonderful Maybe the world is just as beautiful *Chorus* We join hands and pray that someone hears us Out loud we s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I can never truly write what I feel. I can capture the feelings of others But some how I can’t harness mine They remain buried in the caverns of my mind I’m eternally chasing them with pen to paper Fingers to keyboard But just as I start to corner them It turns to knife on stone And my...
  • Poetry > Song Lyrics
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    Don’t ask me for breakfast in the morning Or for me to drive you home Don’t ask for me to stay in bed and cuddle Or call and ask for the sweater you left Don’t ask for a second date Or treat me like your girlfriend Don’t change your status to “in a relationship” Or think we were a...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Can you hear me? I’m in here somewhere. Hiding. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” You can’t see me? Where am I? I’m not really sure. I just know it’s dark, and cold, and lonely- but I’m too afraid to leave my cave. Living like a hermit, eating nuts and berries and living ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Freezing and shivering Rubbing my arms and legs, pimpled with cold, trying to warm up Please God, just a little, just a little warmer, It’s too cold, I can’t Can’t feel control please God Fire? Watch gleaming ash touch the air Extinguished before I can touch it Closer Closer to fir...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Do you remember your first jealousy, of the cast and attention the boy with the broken arm received, and trying to break your own arm so you could be the center of attention? Do you remember when you first realized that attention didn’t necessarily mean happiness? Do you remember your first day ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Two words Words I’ve never heard Heart, but not meant. “I understand.” Those words, As I stared into dark eyes Mirroring mine, Caught my heart in a vise. A lock of hair falls Cutting his concentration But the hypnosis remains Typing my soul to his. I couldn’t break the spel...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I want freedom. True, and pure No ties, no restraints, no ropes holding me down. Freedom to fly Unburdened, carrying nothing My wings spread, kissed by the wind, The world flowing below. I am not drawn to the mountains No need for the lakes or streams Soaring, untouched by longing No desi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We fight with words and with bricks. With attitude, with rolled eyes. We fight with guns, the bullets pushed into the clip with a sure thumb, just in case you need it. With a razor blade, drawn carefully against the skin, lightly so as not to leave a mark. We fight with a finger shoved down ...
  • Hot Topics > All Hot Topics
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    Words. The sounds they make when spoken, when written. Sometimes, when I hear someone writing, I can tell what word they are writing, just by the rhythm of the scratches. I just don’t understand language from a logical standpoint of origin. How could someone point at a tree and say, “Tree...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    So barbaric and primitive. The infernal bars are exactly six inches apart- wide enough for hope, for a glimpse of the world outside gray cement, but not wide enough for escape. Examining the bars, thinking like a mogul, in terms of dollars and cents, it would actually be more convenient and affordab...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    We were walking on a busy sidewalk, thirteen blocks from the library, dodging skaterats and uppity men in business suits, avoiding the neighborhood panhandlers with their cardboard signs. Walking casually arm in arm, laughing and chatting, giggling over jokes known only to the two of us. Mid-laugh, ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I'm sitting on my unmade bed, blasting Guster through my pawnshop speakers and minding my own beeswax when my phone blasts out the unmistakable polka ringtone that means only one thing: Bubbe is calling. Bubbe, my German-born grandmother, is the kind of relative who loves to nag. As I reach hesit...

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