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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I want you to live in my mind for a minute. I want you to know that my eyes turn three shades bluer when I cry, and that I have spent my last three years fighting fire with fire and pain with pain. I never learned to tie my shoes the grown-up way and four percent of suicide attempts end like ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There are some tastes I will never really get out of my mouth like the flavor of a swingset pole in late December or the blood on my lip from the June afternoon when you tossed me a baseball and said to think fast— you apologized one million times but kept overestimating me. Yearbook...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I remember when we danced over deadlines and waded in philosophy in the river after school. One day, you said, you'd find the meaning of life, even if it meant nothing to your own. You were incredible at saying things that lit sparks in my eyes. I remember when we cut school. We avoided the ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You said wishes were glass castles stationed high up in the sky. You scribbled dreams of fairies, though; never failed to make great mountains from the mundane hills rolling through your mind— I don’t blame you. You promised time would see me through; said I’d find a way to do eve...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Your story was written in binary code; colorful words only gray eyes could see, and mine were deeply, weakly blue. We will never be more than familiar strangers; strangely familiar déjà vus....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You liked the wind a bit too much, perhaps. Such cold detachment must have been the closest you had ever come to love. I remember when you let your wispy hair fall forward, and opened your hand to let pockets of air drift quickly between your fingers. You said windy days made life worth ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I like pixelated fonts that look really horrible and unprofessional and old. I like nostalgia because even horrible unprofessional nasty old things are beautiful when tinted rose....
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I want a typewriter badly. I want an old, really old, typewriter. I'd like a typewriter from 1944, when a first class stamp cost 3 cents. Or maybe one from 1952, when a stamp still cost 3 cents and "The Cat in the Hat" was published. I'd even take a '66, because the 60'...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Happy birthday, even though you wouldn't want to hear it like that. You'd have said that it was not your birthday, but the 15th anniversary of it. You'd have had your mom serve you the biggest piece of angel food cake after everyone else, because you believed in simple things and savi...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    She smiled innocently and handed me a tissue flower. Her class had made them earlier that day as Mother's Day gifts. I'm not her mother, of course, but she's the over-achiever of her third-grade class, so she made two and saved one for me. I thanked her and moved my fingers over its petals. It w...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I cake on charcoal eyeliner and black-to-gray eyeshadow. My mascara-laced lashes are weighted down with sticky midnight black puree that supposedly accentuates my beauty in some way. I know I do not look good; I look normal. I blend in, almost as well as my charcoal eyeliner blends in, fading into m...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Thoughts flutter about my mind Like butterflies. I capture as many as I can Within the fragile nets that compose my heart, And my pencil Translates their colors; Their patterns; Their grace; Onto a piece of notebook paper. The most beautiful ones Always get away....

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