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  • Poetry > Free Verse
    A writer? An artist? A sculptor? A poet? “I see one” He says “Or a mixture of two In the depths Of your eyes” Dark seas of blue He asks Full of wonder “Which of these are you?” I smirk Glance down If only he knew I’m all of them, darling More so When I’m bl...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Run in circles Round and round Sprint until You face the ground Do not vary From the track Darkness there Will beat you back Run in circles Pre-assigned And only some Will lose their minds....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Shall I compare thee To a winter’s day? Thou art more painful And more frigid. Far past the beauty Of October days The winter holds Much too long a lease Its frozen ice Tears through my skin I pray I won’t have to Feel it more But thy eternal winter shall not fade, Shall ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
    As I feel my pen scratch along a piece of thin, pale paper, I know what liberation is. The act of writing, of transferring ideas from my mind to my paper is the most freeing concept imaginable. Being a writer means not only experiencing this rush, this surge of adrenaline, but craving it. Longing to...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    you are an artist drawing me images of us, together, always. but why, darling, must you draw in pencil?...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    The air is heavy on my skin. The foul odors of my neighbors Waft through the steel bars Filling my nose with their stench The stiff, old bed Is hard on my back A stained white stone The cracked cement walls Absorb hope from my eyes As I grasp their impermeability The taunts and th...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    All right, I may have lied When I said forever But friendship Can’t last Through deception All right, you may have tried To stay my companion But you talk And you spread All my secrets All right, I may have pried You out of my life But you always Put gossip Before me All right...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    I adore all my children My eight little loves So happily, I protect them From so far above Some are so tiny Some have wide rings When I think of them, My heart brightly sings They circle around me Needing my heat Never once thinking Of if we could meet I should be content To see ...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
    The Sawmill Road gas station had always been repulsive. The gray asphalt was cracked throughout the parking area, and filed with potholes. The gas pumps were ancient, white skeletons covered in rust and peeling paint. The little convenience store was papered with old advertisements, adding to the bl...

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