“giddyup!” he said, his fist wrapped tightly around my ponytail. i had long hair, then, down to my […]
“To live is to be willing to die over and over again.” —Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart […]
“You were a pleasure to work with,” my counsellor said, her face warm and round like a pumpkin. […]
No one asks the fae to start Spring, they simply do, the same way nettles sting or clouds […]
It had nothing to do with the way her nose whistled when she breathed or the fact that […]
a shadow sits in a meadow. you can’t see its face or its arms or legs or anything. […]
ley lines (/leɪˈlaɪnz/) noun a network of straight lines thought by pseudo-archaeologists to connect sacred sites. i. The […]
Bury me in that red-rocks desert, Where the lilies don’t grow And the mountains cast a shadow On […]
It feels like every poem I’ve ever written has, in some way or another, been about spring. Ironically, […]
In the rain, we have potential –It’s where all things come to take root– while running water, rings […]
This time of year, I think of the mornings when I wake up next to you. The sun […]
The sun set, my skin burnt red, the beetles had gone from my brain. A porch light turns […]
can i be the bud of a new leaf still curled inwards on the branches of a tree […]
after “Looking for Ram, Looking for Allah” by Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee Thousands of lifetimes ago, I was named […]
i am laying in the grass and thinking about the simplest of things: a ladybug in my palm—the […]
Even as a writer, there is not a word in the English alphabet to describe the pride I feel for BrainScramble.
This box is my means of vision and communication and a newfound, intrinsic piece of me. Others experience me through it – so why shouldn’t it be considered an extension of my being?
When I receive the same words, I take reprieve in the knowledge that someone, even if it’s not me, especially because it’s not me, knows that I will keep fighting.