By: Aika Dingle A marble that was scattered across the floor sent me to a quick garble Gabriel rose from the dead, tho he wasn’t the man I loved. A song that sent me to a lullaby, voice as painful as cake, he remained sweet. until the filling gradually dies. My head shot like a cannonball, crimson filled my head, and my favorite pen that smelled like cinnamon. wrote these words, as her arm pressed around the paper, Gabriel snickered before farewell, “I saved you,”

By: Chloë Malinofski (TikTok: @clov.er29) Dear Reader, These guide lines are specific to who I was in middle school and what I wish I would have known at that time, inspired by the essay “Ten things I’ve been meaning to say to you” by Jason Reynolds. I hope it can be applicable to people of any age, just particularly those experiencing the labyrinth of junior high for the first time. You are only as pretty as the words you speak. People will not remember you by how trendy y

By: Ella Grimes (TikTok: @not_egrimey13, Instagram: @ella_grimes11) Grief, as a living creature, would not be as ugly as many would paint it. Sure, it would be rough around the edges, And the ink might be smudged, But it is still a creature. It has a heart, And it beats. Its heart aches from how ugly people make it out to be. Because people struggling only see the hard edges, And smudged ink, But people who survived, They see the bright pink headband the creature wea

By: Aleah Lyons (TikTok: @aleahnoel_writes, Instagram: @aleahwatermelon) It hurts to breathe, is all I can think, it hurts. I raise my blanket over my mouth and cough, trying to be quiet so as to not wake my sisters. I slowly stand up, trying not to step on my sister Maisie. Mother is laying in bed with my youngest sister, Mary. She has asthma and mother is always worried it’s going to keep getting worse with the dust. My mother wants to sell the farm and leave, for Mary, bu

By: Lea El Hajal (TikTok: @lea_lhjl, Instagram: @lea_elhjl) I am not chosen—I am not chosen when they arrive like spring in borrowed skin, I am not chosen when they speak my name like it might stay. I am not chosen when laughter sits between us, alive and warm,I am not chosen when it feels like finally, finally, something stays. But it doesn’t stay. It doesn’t stay when the words grow thinner, it doesn’t stay when the silence learns my shape, it doesn’t stay when I start to h

By: Em Tamura (TikTok: @lostdemigoddess, Instagram: @em.n.ms74) The wrathful demon tears at my remains And he’s still called a saint And the lustful beast craves nothing more Than to carve my heart out, carnivore Desire is quite the finicky thing And yet its praises they’ll still sing Santo, sainte Sankt, saint They won’t call them by their real name Santo, sainte Sankt, saint They’ll deify them to their graves Sinners have a special place in the world down below And where th

By: Lily Moon (TikTok: @lilymoon2324) One Ava Reyes is practicing alone late at night, pushing herself too hard, rehearsing until her feet ache. She doesn’t hear the sparks from the old wiring until smoke fills the room. She tries to grab her choreography journal — the one thing she can’t lose — but the smoke overtakes her. A firefighter bursts in. Cal Bennett. Except he’s not gentle. He’s furious. “What the hell were you thinking staying in here?” he snaps as he lifts

By: Holly Griffiths (TikTok: @holslibraryauthor) You never know what you have until it's gone. A statement of truth in this current moment. Because as I watched the yellow I missed the blue , as the clouds sunk I missed the way they so effortlessly swayed and wished I could dance with them one last time . I lay on the grass , the green shards intertwining with my skin quilting me from danger , it was a feeling I knew I would miss -wherever I ended up. My heart was still bea

By: Shairah De Guzman I was born with colors on my fingers, an artist — quiet in the corners of rooms too loud for someone like me. They called me gentle, but never listened. They saw the shape of my face, not the shape of my soul. — a dreamer, soft eyes staring at a world that speaks in noise. But noise never spoke back. So I turned into something else. — the thinker, because thinking was safer than feeling and never being felt. I learned to understand everyone. Their moods,

By: Haura Indra (Instagram: @hawrsraa, TikTok: @lydsnette) I keep seeing Adrian, even after his passing. Mostly in dreams, though at times I still feel his presence in the flickering lights of our bedroom, in the creak of the old floorboards, or in the faintest tapping on the windowpane. Adrian adored this house. Still living off the Lanford’s generational fortune, he came into possession of his grandfather’s cliffside manor, built by an ancient oak whose branches sway with

By: Ilisa Imeson ( @aawhlisa) The war had been going on for nearly a year now, and it didn’t show any signs of stopping. Amina and her mother had been trying their hardest to stay as far away from the war as possible. They moved from town to town, almost monthly. They had been living in a small town near the border, there hadn’t been much for them to worry about there besides the occasional air raid siren. Amina had been sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window a

By: Sammy Madani A game that tells tales of kingship and war. A fight against minds that's been played for years. All laid out on a checkered battle floor. The death of many soldiers minus the tears. Carved-out pieces representing a hierarchy, But there is a question left unanswered. Is there more to this show of monarchy? A deeper meaning for time left untampered. Or perhaps it's nothing more than a game. Played amongst tons of varous people. Coming from Persia, where it cam

By: Qiyi Lin The museum was a picture of serenity, silence, and the simple beauty of humanity’s endless and timeless history. I sometimes wondered what it was exactly that made something human and alive; what defined a true, authentic soul? What would it feel like to have a raw, bleeding heart in my chest where only cold metal resided? It was oftentimes during the quiet nights where I would question what I was made for, and how it felt to observe me. There was something beau

By: @amandawrites on TikTok The coffee Erica received from the barista this morning had been steaming profusely in the warm shields of her hands. A striking winter always called for a low-fat, soya milk vanilla macchiato with the smoky expressions of coffee resting at the bottom, recurring with the creamy taste bouncing on Erica’s tongue. She had chosen one particular cafe to work at on her trustworthy laptop, not due to capitalizing on its free internet but due to seeing th

By Camryn Joyce When I was seven years old, my great-grandmother died, and I started sleeping backwards on my bed. A nonsensical move to those who did not know me, and one that even my family didn’t quite grasp nor approve of. When I was seven years old, my great-grandmother died, and I swore she lived in the star outside my window, the brightest of them all. In retrospect, I know it was only the North Star, but when I was seven years old, that was my great-grandmother

By: Taylor Reynolds There's one thing that everyone knows kids, hate, rules. They are there to make our lives worse. It's a punishment. They aren't really there for a reason, right? Five years ago, I was in my bedroom with a small packet of pink bubble gum. I snatched it from the downstairs cabinet and practically skipped up to my bedroom. Just then as I was about to peel off the shiny silver wrapper, my bedroom door creaked open. “Taylor I- wait what are you doing,” my mom

By: Max Bryan The flashing red and white lights of the ambulance add to the stress of the moment, and within seconds of the ambulance’s arrival, paramedics are on the beach, running towards Jim. “Estará bíen,” one of them says. “Pero tenemos que llevarlo a un médico pronto.” My dad nods, finally putting his high school Spanish knowledge to work. One of the paramedics lifts Jim up and loads him onto a stretcher that another person has wheeled out. Before I know it, my dad has

Gray Hawthorne Tiktok- @gray.hawthorne October 14th, 2013 April Robbins never wanted to get ghosted on her first real date, but that’s what the universe decided was how tonight would go. The Harvest dance was the prom of eighth graders at Crescent Middle School. It was the only event where eighth graders, the oldest grade at their school, was the only grade allowed. Six and seventh graders had to wait for the Halloween dance, which was lackluster in comparison to the extravag

Amelie Jones Tiktok: @not_jonesie_iswear Instagram: @not_jonesie_iswear Operation Ivy took place in the 1950s under a man named Harry. S. Trueman, who was the 33rd president of the United States. Operation Ivy was built to combat the nuclear weapons project under the Soviet Union. Operation Ivy killed Ninety-two thousand people. Near the middle of the 20th century, nuclear weapons had sprung to life like the seeds of a tree after a fire. The first of many nuclear bombs was de

Oversharer by: hannah d I want to show people every side of me, The good– the bad, and the ugly. My mouth is a waterspout; I want to...