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  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I was lucky to be born in this body, mind in tact. My chest aches. I wrote this letter to a love of mine, that's why. Her name was Winter, my god, her name was Winter. She even looked like winter, ice and snow, white and cold. Winter. Winter, love, have you ever been enraged? I know that you...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    The touch of another woman. I thought about it yesterday when my father presented the simple question to me at face value. It's a deep question although not meant to be. "Dad, I'm gay." "Why?" I usually dismiss this question as if it's unexplainable, as if t...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I've noticed in my newly found lifestyle that there is no purpose in the pathos-tactic. This tactic may hit your targets but will not make them engage in reformation. The ideal value of inspiring comes from sparking creativity but not by overpowering it. Today I saw a girl walking outside of...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Incense is burning next to me. Dark purple on a dull gray. Do you believe me? There's paintbrushes to my left too if you decide to trust me. They are an assortment of blues, tans, and browns inside a clear glass. The paints inside consist of oranges and greens all mixing together to form a piec...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Your cheeks are an unimpassioned hazelnut, Drawn blank in the apathy of winter. My skin, a heated electric blanket, spreading wide around your body. Golden, rich metallic rings unblurred. A darkened sweater wrapped thick against your chest, Makes the debris of summer visionless and diseased. T...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Heated lips, and a famished complexion - Consumable, shaded, rayless eyes, Attained obsessive perfection, Oh boy in your darkened jacket, I’m in need of your affection. Greedy for dreams, give me all of your attention. Greedy for dreams, give me all of your attention. My words are like sugar...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    The feeling of security has become an illusion. I often wonder what time would have to be replaced, so that I could be less rejecting. I know there have been times in my life that I have been okay, that I have been connected and involved. Where have all the flowers gone? I can only imagine. A few...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I felt alive in her presence the second I demolished. She was an intricate girl, knowing a lot about arcane matters, and devouring my entire existence in the palm of her hand. I figured this out in anatomy class, in which I'm writing in now, after she sat down in front of me with yellow and ora...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    When she spoke, it was like music. An escalating crescendo of a Capella music, bouncing and changing at different intervals. At different levels, settings, objectives. Her diction alone made instruments materialize. Her tone, her articulation - like music. The most beautiful music I had ever heard. ...

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