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  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I’m heading off to college in three days, and I feel about three years old. Looking back on my senior year of high school, I have come to realize that I went through a serious growing-up crisis. Every week I would go to the town library and take out about… fourteen children’s books. After a mo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Black Eyed Susans I think those are The closest. Your eyes are inkwells Your eyelashes the petals They fill my pen If my blood ran as black As that ink As black as your coffee I would not mind It is your poison You are mine....
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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                  "She had pantyhose drying on the towel rack. Just pantyhose with little wrinkly feet, out to dry. But she wasn't one of those crazy chicks with bras in the dishwasher. Thank God." He put down his drink. The square wooden table was glossed over, like his hair, like ...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    What would you do if the streets were empty? Sometimes I like to imagine That the pink-crested purple clouds who Extend our known horizon Could be mountains in their own right Could unfurl as kings in plain sight Whose robes spread still afar I think they are What would you do if the stre...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    And the whole time I thought Of glass, white hot Because even the toughest Will melt And you and I By an invisible half inch A barrier between Two bodies throwing heat Torchfire in A sigh of acceptance That this is the most beautiful part And tension, beneath the surface Is a safe h...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    You sat cross-legged in a living room recliner. Swinging off your slippers, you settled in. You always wore your long gray hair in a high ponytail, selecting one of a thousand different scrunchies, depending on your outfit. I think that day it was brown. Your pretzel legs were covered with paisley c...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I stood looking in the mirror. It was movie star style ? wide and surrounded by bare light bulbs. Smoothing on red lipstick, no blotting. I walked out behind his lounge chair, running my fingers over its coffee corduroy and curling the carpet in my toes. "Let's go for a ride." He ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I wish mornings would never come. They are grey, and not a thick, comforting, smoky grey; they are light bluish whitish grey like being sick and having nothing left in your stomach but water. They are insubstantial, empty, lightheaded. The morning does not reflect the sensuality of the sunset: a sun...
  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
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  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
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  • Art /
    Photo > Pen & Ink
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  • Art /
    Photo > Other Images
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  • Art /
    Photo > Other Images
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  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
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  • Art /
    Photo > Pen & Ink
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  • Art /
    Photo > Charcoals
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