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  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    i. I live in pursuit of exposure, soul-baring, the practice of being what we are without apology. Every person is different. No one else carries our specific memories or desires. No body is formed exactly like ours. We play at oneness, but shared experience only stretches so far. In the end, we a...
  • Hot Topics > What Matters
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    [It’s not romantic, it’s bizarre and almighty and so much better than you think]   Let me tell of you real love. Neon, staggering devotion. Let me paint the picture as I see it. I won’t make this sentimental. I won’t be tender or aching about it. I’ll be wild instead, fiendish, di...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    What I’m about to tell you may come as somewhat of a shock. You’re not going to want to believe me at first. You’ll find it unimaginable, impossible. You’ll think of the subcutaneous pudge on your belly and the way you wheeze when you get to laughing really hard, and you’ll think I’m f...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I’m putting you away, darling. I’m erasing your old play spots, closing the cellar door on all your dolls, pulling your fairy tales from the shelf and placing them in cardboard prisons. I hate doing this. I hate it more than I’ve hated anything in a very long time. You’re ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Dear Parents, I must admit, we are very difficult to recognize. More often than not you seem to be completely at odds with who we have become. In light of this, allow me to illuminate the inner workings of the teenage soul. Or attempt it, at the very least. You must first understand how incred...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    So you’ve woken up in this wild place and you have no idea what the hell to do with it yet. There’s political warfare happening right and left, a plethora of endangered species [love, loyalty, and honesty among them], news channels brimming with catastrophe, and the quiet sadness of a society ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    They go home after, and Jean vomits in the kitchen sink until she's trembling all over. Then she sits at the kitchen table reading an article on the theory of relativity. Tom slumps at his typewriter, staring blankly into the gray. Later, they go out on the balcony and stand with their eyes ti...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The overflow, the rush, the scream, the loud-heart-kicking, breath on split lips, leaves flying, eyelash detached from the lid, make a wish, clouds bleeding into one another, bright seams between them, childhood laughter echoing in the back of old cherry coke bottles, fingers curled around the...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The great poets have already said everything I wanted to say they talk about life and drowning and death and fire and cracked blue red beautiful things and humanity and, god help them, humans. there's not much here for me to say. i'm trying to do what they all did, which is artic...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    the writer's purpose is to assemble a narrative of the heart...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Scraggle-haired, red-cheeked, grass-stained things, running with wildflowers in hand and mud underfoot, shouting and stomping and grinning, sunshine sliding through let-down curls, all missing teeth and ankles showing beneath cuffs, who sprawl crazily on park benches, on dirt, on ch...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    is here and it tastes like rain The slight chill in the air sends spasms of delight down my spine during long walks through mud, gravel, and new grass Splintered sunlight throws shadows dancing and geese form their bold vee's overheard sailing through the stratosphere like f...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The poet tries with her words to create something new something hitherto unconsidered, unthought, unspoken She rakes the dirt for language that is inimitable and rare Fighting her way out of prosaic platitudes Searching deliriously for a sharp-edged jolt of ingenuity that will awaken...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Oh, the wretched, damnable ache of growing older of saying farewell to wild romps through the park of turning these sunshine smudged days over to memory of taking it all into my arms once more before letting it go completely it’s a funny sort of pain and I don’t much like the way ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    After a great deal of climbing I reached the top and paused to admire things from that new place. The sky was a trio of hues (halcyon dragging to teal fading to slate) and the sun was a great big bright thing (inflamed, illuminated). Inch by inch, I lifted my arms, as if to embrace the g...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    It’s cold as hell and the sun is a white hole in the bleached blue of the sky. There are these kids all over the place, little creatures with bright eyes and tangled hair, yelling to each other as they dodge the arc of wildly punted soccer balls. Most of them aren't wearing coats. I feel l...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I will never lose my insatiable lust for writing Each time I pick up a pencil or contemplate the barren blankness of a new page I am imbued with something terrifying, glorious and huge Ah, there it is, I think to myself with a little smile, that wild thing living inside of ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    isn’t it crazy that right now we’re hurtling through space at reckless speeds, orbiting a ball of fire and radiance while stars rush by in inconsequential streaks and nebulae ripple here and there in sparkling shades of mauve and gold? isn’t it crazy that right now winds from the ot...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    It’s no surprise that one of my favorite books is “Where the Wild Things Are.” I’m a wild thing myself, a whirl of clumsy limbs and quiet incandescence. The world unnerves me, but I make up for outward hesitance with inward joy, the kind that resonates in every bone, organ, and cell of my bo...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Music has always had a profound effect on me. When I was just shy of six years old, I habitually woke before my parents and snuck barefoot through the house to our bulky, black CD player. I would rifle through the stacks of CD’s, searching feverishly for one in particular until I found it—a co...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The phalanges are connected to the metacarpals, the metacarpals are connected to the ulna, the ulna is connected to the humerus and the heart is connected to pen and paper in a way that defies all logic...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    You live in a universe apart from everyone else. You’re like a young butterfly, iridescent and airborne and headed for the stratosphere. Your thoughts are not cast away by a mind that has been trained to reject every spark of whimsy and inspiration. You cherish them, use them to write your bl...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You once told me that you were never anything close to normal I laughed and looked up at the emerging stars murmuring something about you and how you were fine just as you were something about normal being vastly overrated what I didn’t tell you was that you seemed more nor...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Outside my window the charcoal sky stretches over a world pulsing with celebration and saccharine nostalgia I sit on the edge of my bed and listen as the hands of the clock tick down to midnight thinking of all the bright and bitter moments of the past twelve months, exhaling a symphony ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    She laid alone on her bed with only a sheet covering her leaden limbs Face half pressed to the pillow, she struggled to taste oxygen [breathe in, breathe out] lost in a vortex of bewilderment and misery, trying for a moment to forget that everything had collapsed Her skin itched and crawle...

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