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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Arched under the sky, she was beautiful, (though others couldn't see it) she had feathers hidden (deep in her bones) in blue eyes like a bird held down to the slope of the sun (a glass globe of falling feathers). The sweat gathered in lines within her hands that touch the air around you, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Smothering his fingertips, he began to feel the world around him— The lacings of light, the softness of stars On the floorboards, The hollowed wood of the cracked sky, the signs His breath made as they tumbled from his lips in a string like ragged poetry; he might have found his ...
  • Hot Topics > Bullying
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    Arched under the sky, she was beautiful, (though others couldn't see it) she had feathers hidden (deep in her bones) in blue eyes like a bird held down to the slope of the sun (a glass globe of falling feathers). The sweat gathered in lines within her hands that touch the air around ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    She left her heartstrings hidden in the sofa as she wrote by closed panes of frosted glass those curled letters and lines that drew deep into the paper, saw with the clarity of the dried ink on her hands, the stars from maddening earth that she wanted to tilt just left so that all could se...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A pen in her hand would rid her of tears; yet still she spins into the sun, stares into the great glare of the sea that spits silvered foam and swallows wrists and ankles like the moon, traced on her back by comforting hands, tried once to swallow the bolded red letters carved in the echo...
  • Nonfiction > Sports
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    It is known as a universal truth that one pair of average human hands cannot shatter a brick wall. Hands have been known for climbing branches, scrawling the faces of bolded symbols across expanses of unblemished pages, carving names into trees and faces into mountaintops. They will clutch at the sk...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It is not a day for Poetry- It is for ripped knees, scraggly fingers run through scraggly hair, and ribbed walls torn under skies that bled and seeped their color down, now bright. Clouds had stolen the fields, rain- softened petals, tears in the crook of a little nose- but not the...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It is not a day for Poetry-- It is for ripped knees, scraggly fingers run through scraggly hair, and ribbed walls torn under skies that bled and seeped their color down, now bright. Clouds stole the fields, rain- softened petals, tears in the crook of a little nose-- but not the t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Fall like bolded ink words worn, blackened by heels scuffed in long strides, stumbles-- the hollowness of a city of ashen arms-- resting in ears dulled and lifted in light from where they have always been. The stones are still sharp enough when they fall that palms will split, crowns wi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Snarling in my ears roaring like the flames that leave Nothing but ashes and behind that, beauty And the cool love of rain that patters on the roof – people dancing, feet, bare, searching the charred clouds for a glimpse of a twist of stars in the night in silence or the rustle of t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Some say the world is forgivable acid in rain, sick underbellies of clouds, pallid, dying, yellow light all we have left of the sun; music gone, growls of things once in treetops silenced, empty, bristling pelts lying where grass shriveled to crimson dust. Tongue swiping across a ro...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Plucked off for people to walk on; Dying copper or maybe Bronze And silver in their palms, Warmed in a microwave to sound like Singing as life shatters, A hatchet mark on a tree that will, When you crack, try to seal it later As the heart of a person with Sweet juices rejected by paint on t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    the crescent moons you've pulled from your fingertips littered on the carpet, colorless, unlike your vomit-pink wallpaper that you've had since you were four. Your mother says now that it reminds her of the lipstick she used to wear before she grew up and forgot how to be pretty— ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Nearby on the earth that is ours, bathing in the dirt and the remains Eden left behind Because they were warned we'd forget things worthwhile; solar fingers playing the fiddle that teethes on slow, soft melodies, gnawing out bloody crowns and leaving there the round, dark abyss of what w...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Today I run from the demons that chase down halls, lead into other tempting jaws, littered with lost teeth and dripping yellow mucous membranes that prepare the monster for the crunch of bone on sliced tongues but a hand grasps mine, wrenched from the snap that would have belonged to me, take...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I sit and I am empty, the walls, bone-white, more like crying faces in the dark before I open the door, see the stars flinging themselves from the sky and the moon resting on the branches of the willow tree great eye, staring, full, at the cavern in my chest anchored with a chain that d...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Poem where I pretend bells are like windows-- the keening of scattering glass warmed in a microwave to sound like dying copper or maybe bronze, whichever has a sweeter voice, a deeper, more lovely cry when you crack them, try to seal it later like a hatchet mark on a tree that w...
  • Fiction > Sci-fi/Fantasy
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    I saw her when she was alone, just like I am now. The light of the dingy streets became beautiful in her bottomless eyes, and her waves of hair shone despite the murky air of the city. Regardless of the plain covering of mussed, torn jeans, and jacket, her skin shone; she was a jewel in the midst of...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    “Emily, what do you think is the worst way to die?” The two were sprawled in the dirt, eyes to the sky, with the lap of the water at their feet and the rustle of the trees in the ever so slight whispering of the breeze. Stars above them winked, almost lovingly, down at them. They had been here ...
  • Poetry > Haiku
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    Trees can reach higher to the heavens than we can So we cut them down....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I love the crackle of thick pages, flipping through my fingers; the luscious whisper of a pen across paper; the smell of a brand new book. My letterless keyboard, iust clouded black squares from the fingers that’ve worn it down. Misty eyes scribble endlessly in the night. ...
  • Fiction > Thriller/Mystery
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    As the clock chimes were swallowed by the night, I was terrified. Whispers of doom grated through my ears and into my brain, tempting me to leave the world behind. Shadows waltzed across my unseeing eyes; something evil was trying to summon me. I firmly gripped my reality in clammy, clenched fists-...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    Cinderella; that’s what my father picked. Not Joanna, Bethany, or even Mary Sue. It almost makes me glad that he’s dead, but then again, he left me with this moronic lady and two hideous stepsisters that don’t even warrant a further description. My name is elegant and can be thought pretty, bu...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    The streetlight breaks, scattering all around the slummy street. Fists grip tightly around a Louisville baseball bat. Fast breaths disappear in the midnight air. Filthy cusses spill from a baritone voice. Man, why'd he have to be so damn stupid? He promised to come back with food, with tha...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Time is gone, But this page remains Blemished with eraser marks, Calloused by scratched-out words-- Marred through illegible beauty. Clock chimes echo And still, I have yet to discover what this poem Is truly About....

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