This poem was the 1st Place Winner in our 3rd Annual Poetry Contest.   We were opposites, she and I, She of the earth and I of the sky. She ruled day while I ruled night, She worshiped the ground as I took flight. But even so we longed to meet To have our faces

This poem was the 2nd Place Winner in our 3rd Annual Poetry Contest.   Though fallow and brown, it’s a wormhole Transporter in consumption’s own hometown! Set all coordinates to collapse In upon themselves. Fill’er up With holy water; recycle mortal maps. There’s founding boss Jacob Smith With firewater and a pen. Train That water

This poem was the 3rd Place Winner in our 3rd Annual Poetry Contest.   5’3 with an itty bitty waist, with some itty bitty tittys and a pretty brown face 19, with a gap in my teeth, I’m addicted to weave but that’s the only thing fake 96 was when my mom gave birth to

“What did you learn today at school?” This question was asked each afternoon, by one or both of my parents as I arrived home. My mother often recounts the lengthy recitations, complete with visual examples, I would excitedly share in my early years of education; for there were those periods of teenage angst and loathing,

I’ve noticed that it is a universal desire among writers to sound good. I mean, think about it: your reader can’t see your face, can’t hear your voice, and probably doesn’t know you. Your words are all you have to prove that you know something or have a great idea. And so it’s only natural