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  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    The cold glass against your face, As you press against the windowpane, To watch the rain fall. Outside, the ground is cold and wet The crisp branches bounce As the rain weighs their bark down And the glistening leaves Cry water droplets Onto the muddy earth....
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    People claim that a person carries around baggage from the past. I suppose I should sort mine out. I'll put the fights, agonies and despairs in one pile. Maybe I'll add crying, too. I can sort the stress, anxiety, peer pressure and insecurity into a nice stack. In a box to the side, I'll put frizzy ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    It was milk white and fleecy soft with silky smooth hems. It was most likely my first possession, as a baby. It was my blanket. In fact, it’s even still sitting on the top shelf of my closet. I used to take it with me everywhere and that took a toll on my fluffy knit blanket. I created tears a...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Summer rain Sunrise dew Hypnotized Just get me through Through the pain Fresh and new Summer rain Sunrise dew...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    The Wave And the past Forgotten in layers Means nothing Almost forgetting Who is true And what is false Letting the wave consume you Swallowing you It tells you not to hold your breath So you don’t What a wicked game Will you play?...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
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    “I told you so.” Now that I look back, those were probably careless, words that my mother would take to heart, but I was too caught up in my own shock after hearing the news. My sister was in the hospital because of a brain tumor. No, it wasn’t cancerous, but it was bad. I didn’t ge...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
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    I can always sense what time of year it is even without searching my mother’s calendar for those big, orange letters. Without opening all the glossy paper catalogues only to find pages filled with what seems to be the dream wardrobe for every child’s dress-up game fantasies. All I have to do is ...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    When I wake up the morning of vacation, I already feel of the cold, nervous plane. I already breathe the stale, cruising altitude air. I don’t like to fly. I am forced to imagine my tropical destination, Warm and exciting, But then I snap back to reality in a dark, crowded plane And a j...

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