Drawing people in real time is always a challenge. Everybody seems to squirm around and never sit still […]
I have this dream. I am lying on the floor of my bedroom, my mind smooth, clear and […]
In Toronto’s crowded coffee scene, it takes more than an exposed brick wall to stand out. Storefront of […]
College applications are approaching, and all my thinking about this defining time has not prepared me for one […]
When my older sister was born, she had a condition called neonatal jaundice. She came out with a […]
It only rained — broken drops fell forthe cold stones,dustingloneliness.Autumn cold felt like pinching white chalk on a […]
The night is cold. Cold in the sense that I cannot feel my wind-eaten fingers; cold in the […]
Someone keeps sewing my mouth shutwith stitches that match my skin. My nights are haunted by dreamswhere a […]
By Elisa Penha There’s a rabbit on the face of the moon. Well—the shape of a rabbit mapped […]
Show me who you are on the inside. Divulge yourself to an audience of thousands—perhaps millions. Do you […]
I find solace in the fact that this vision of him in my dreams is simply a fairytale.
I am mourning a person who doesn’t exist,
for he never existed how I wished him to.
The names in this article have been altered to maintain privacy. “Come on, we’re gonna be late!”, Sophie […]
It hurt me to see the pain in her eyes—the genuine fear that her baby wasn’t going to the same place as she was after death. I tried not to feel pity for the ignorance and illusionment she might live in because that would make me no better.
Chiara, Chloe, & Mel Chloe & Oschi Zane & Scout V & Dallas Rachel & Ollie
He pushed me backwards and turned around. His retreating footsteps were muted by the sound of my fingers rummaging through rocks for one aptly sized for my seven-year-old fist. Before I could think too hard about it, I wound up my arm and threw the rock as hard as I could.
I missed.
By Elisa Penha I was diagnosed as gifted when I was seven. Diagnosed. That’s the wording they used—like […]
Celia closed her eyes, anticipating a magnetic moment, a magnificent chemical reaction. The way Lucy described kissing men. It’s not that Celia hadn’t kissed men before -she had kissed quite a few. But she never felt fireworks go off in her gut the way Lucy promised she would feel, so Celia always hoped that the next boy she kissed would be the one. The next boy she kissed would be the one who made her feel like Lucy felt; the kaleidoscopic energy in Lucy’s soft stomach, the involuntary arch of Lucy’s back when she craved more intimacy, and the ticklish trace of Lucy’s fingers along the back of her lover.
i arrive home. the lock to my condo jams and i spend a few seconds shimmying my key […]