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  • Poetry > Free Verse
    softly April came into raw meadows and white, empty beds buttercup bundles in glass on the sill yellow lacquered green in gray, redbuds and vines, and bathroom dots foil shine rotting fruit basil, Exhale ex hail after the storm ruined zinnias I could do no wrong pink-cheeked forgot...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
    Let’s presume I’m dead, and that the reason that I died was because I killed myself. Let’s say the reason why I’m dead is because there was nothing. Why was there nothing? There was nothing because there was no one, and there was nobody because it was one million years from now and we’d...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
    The devil decided he was going to kill me on Tuesday. It was a pretty cold day, and as night came, the sky turned lavender laced with the wet, lacquered black of the trees. I knew he was going to kill me. Why he needed me to die was a mystery to me, it was probably so we could join his legion o...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
    More important than anything in the world is to be mature- be naïve and easily persuaded, but try your hardest to stay mature. Listen to your friends when they whisper that they really want you to be happy. Hope they’re not lying when they say they want to help you find happiness through ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
    More important than anything is to be mature. Be naïve and easily persuaded, but try your hardest to stay mature. Listen to your friends when they whisper that they really want you to be happy. Hope they’re not lying when they say they want to help you find happiness through “rebel...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    first of all he wouldn’t dance around anyone’s question or make anyone smile and everybody would hate him he wouldn’t have made friends with the ­exacto knife he used to cut his grip tape and she wouldn’t have carved up her arm with a safety pin on new year’s when she was drunk a...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Spearmint was always the taste in my mouth when I kissed you Because we were always walking together after seventh hour And I always got four spearmint candies in seventh hour And I always had one in my mouth Now you walk with your hand in Margaret Dickinson's And I walk a few steps behind y...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Seventh hour he dances around my question, writing trueLOVE on my legs with a stolen purple Sharpie He’s smiling only smiling so maybe I’ll smile back and maybe get up and leave...

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