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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    In sixth grade I had a dream that I was a selkie I washed up on the rocks and fled from my seal skin, to dance - on spindly legs like a new colt I was all awkward elegance long wish bones shoving against my skin, pressing egg shell veins against my pale casing When selkies fall in love with ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    They always say sweet dreams Like they should be coated in sugar or dipped in syrup and brought to chapped lips with sticky fingers I want my dreams to be succulent Like overripe peaches with tearing skin dripping juice down heated cheeks to pool in the dent of my collarbone Escaping down onto s...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Last year, I was done. I had no drive left, no interest in life. I’d been in the same school for years, the same people, the same scenery. The only place that interested me was the past, so I chose to live there in my technicolor dreams, instead of the real world full of gray and beige. When I was...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Rule #1 of being a teenager: Everything is more exciting if you're not allowed to do it. Phoebe and I didn't sneak out to meet boys or do anything against the law; we had no dishonorable intentions that could only be carried out at night. It's just that being able to walk and talk and dance and yell...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Dust “Stop overthinking it.” I told the reflection in the bathroom mirror. The lights reflected off the bright yellow walls and cast strange light on my face. “Stop overthinking it. They want to be here. You’re having a good day. Breathe.” I didn’t know why I had to convince myself. It ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    My father has strong hands. Strong hands, strong arms, strong shoulders. His hands are rough and browned from farm work, even his fingernails have thick ridges in them, so unlike my mother’s long smooth hands. My father has alway been strong and stern, the steady rock throughout my childhood. When...
  • Nonfiction > Travel & Culture
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    There is a distinctly unpleasant odor only slightly diluted by the breeze carried in from the north end. This scent of garbage trucks and abandoned street meat from baseball games swirls around the above ground entrance to the boston commons, an unceremonious opening onto a cement patch packed with ...

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