The elk hides stories of bluepoint and veery.
It's Kokum's prize—calloused hands
weave cord
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1 min
My bloodless white fingers grasped my thighs, squeezing away like Sunday lemonade. I gasped, letting my head fall back. I thumbed the lining of my shorts, finding a loose thread and pulling hard. No ... [+]
Sent up to look out,
Taking shots of the moons.
Yet not without,
A self-loving swoon.
...
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Mallory Johnson lived in the suburbs behind a white picket fence and a dark pine door. Her husband called her "Mal" when he trudged in late on the weekends, drunk and tired. David Smith was a working ... [+]
I naturally started writing with my left hand because it just felt right.
I held a pen in my
...
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2016.
I am a new patient at a partial hospitalization program in Rancho Cucamonga, California. I didn't want to come here; for the duration of my time in this program I'll be living alone in an
...
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Would there still be hunger
when there's no one to eat?
Would there still be sufferings
...
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I changed my profile photo yesterday.
It's a photograph taken in the Central Park, NYC.
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A long time ago, in a lonely forest, lived three unlucky friends.
Vanished into the land of the lost souls, they were outcasts left to perish—left with nothing but regret and anguish.
It
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Blue has come to visit my hometown,
The unwelcome visitor leaves bookmarks on the worn
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"Sometimes," he said, trimming a bud,
"You have to interfere.
But every other time,
you simply
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Springtime arrives with cherry blossoms falling over the streets of Florence. The shower of rosy petals are tangled in the ruby dawn. A young girl approaches those new hours of daylight in a different ... [+]
I come from a place where kids line the cinderblock walls,
afraid to step on the lava in the
...
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