By Anonymous I don't want to talk about it, but I can't stop. This broken heart is ugly. This shattered heart is embarrassing. This wounded thing inside me is shameful and I don't want anyone to see it, but I can't stop. "It'll hurt less if I talk about it," I assure myself. It's like … Continue reading Tugging at the Edges
by Ola Faleti "I don't want to talk about it." "Yes, you do. You have that stupid grin all over your face." "I think I love her." "Really?" "Nah, but her tongue is incredible." "You bastard." "She told me she could knot a cherry stem in her mouth." "Mmm hmm." "I believe it." "You shacking … Continue reading Sunday, 6pm
By Cat Coule “I don't want to talk about it,” I told Matthew. I turned away from him, towards the ocean. I was lying...and I wasn’t lying. My heart wanted. My throat did not. This was the one thing I had wanted us to talk about for so long. And, yet, if the words came … Continue reading You seem…sad.
I felt happy that day, and beautiful, truly beautiful. The right side of the bed followed me everywhere that morning; my teeth were extra sparkly and my eyes matched. I rejoiced in feeling not a single shred of anxiety, of guilt, of self-loathing. I was beautiful and intelligent and kind, the world smiled at me … Continue reading Life’s a Play
by Connor Kreger I love myself so much I don’t need anyone else to love me but sometimes I have more love than I need It’s these moments I wish I had someone else to love too
sometimes i find myself lost in thought, remembering how your face felt under my fingers, or the curve of your eyelashes as i turned over in the morning and woke you up with kisses. now that i've experienced a teeny puzzle piece of life with you i find my days to be mundane when you're … Continue reading teeny puzzle piece
This transitional period of time, between apartments. Where you’re living out of a bag of clothing, all of your stuff packed away, curtains stripped from the windows, movers scheduled for Sunday. It feels like you’re living in a home that is no longer yours. You’re an illegal squatter. An odd, odd limbo. Why does moving … Continue reading The Year Mark
The days keep flying by, and all I can think of is that I hope time stops but not yet only when I round the corner and finally see you and drink in the way you look at me and forget how I got from my door and into your arms, burrowing till our bodies … Continue reading Fly By
Ode to a spider on my ceiling - is it strange that I want to leave the light on for you? Or that I sometimes think about you clinging to those invisible strands while a man sleeps in my bed, as I leave for work in the morning. A kiss on the forehead, an arm … Continue reading Spider
i gave him your clothes and what made me smile most was that he looked better in your clothes than you ever did.