Life
That Poem I Wrote when I was 12
The first piece of writing that was very important to me personally was a rhyming poem, not the first poem I ever wrote, but the first one I went through the process and re-reading and editing a few times through. It was the first poem I wanted to be proud of, the first poem I wanted to share with others. I was 12 years old, and I had recently fallen in love with reading. I had a reading assignment in school, I don’t remember the book, but I know I went through it fast and talked about it a lot with my Mom, who had her own life-long love of reading fiction and literature. She saw a spark in me and gave me her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and said, “Let’s see how you do with this book.” Harper Lee’s novel is not exactly written for 12-year-olds with its heavy themes of racism, ethics, and the law, but I managed her prose and vocabulary and found myself captivated by the story and its young narrator, Scout. I loved it. I loved the experience of escapism and learning at the same time.
By Julia Jankowski3 years ago in Writers
Disappearing Woman. Top Story - September 2023.
"Disappearing Woman In silence, she's been bound She's here, but gone without a trace Nowhere to be found" The hot, summer sun beat through the window of my bedroom, the song of cicadas leading my small, clumsy hands in their creaking ballad of inspiration. Britney Spears smiled down at me from a poster above my white, wicker desk, her pigtails adorned with tufts of white feathers, beaming a porcelain smile that had yet to crack under the pressure of stardom.
By Christiane Winter3 years ago in Writers
The unbreakable bond
Morning at 4:00 AM: Kathleen stirred from her slumber, roused by the plaintive cries of Shivli's calf. Shivli, her faithful cow, seemed to have an insomniac calf who made it a nightly ritual to disrupt their peaceful sleep. Kathleen muttered in frustration, "This shivli and her calf never lets us sleep in peace. Soon, my own child will be awake because of this racket." She glanced at her son, Jack, nestled contentedly beside his father.
By Gouri Murmu3 years ago in Writers
JENNIFER. Content Warning.
**Jennifer: The Ancient Tapestry of a Name** In the heart of a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and lush meadows, there lived a young woman named Jennifer. Her name carried with it a rich tapestry of ancient meanings and a spiritual significance that seemed to guide her path through life.
By Esse Naeemah Ali3 years ago in Writers
Neon Unicorns
I was young. Grade school young. I knew writing was fun. My father and I did my language arts homework every night, and my favorite assignments always included writing our own stories. I come from a long line of storytellers. People with imagination and creativity woven into their bones. My grandad could easily weave a tale so fascinating, I never minded when he repeated one twice (or three or four times).
By Abigail Adams -The Mad Cow Mob Boss3 years ago in Writers
The Goddess Who Turned into a Cow
Picture it: seventh grade hallways smelling of a mixture of old book pages, coffee lingering on sleepy adults' breath, and the mix of Victoria Secret body mist and Axe body spray. The walls lined with blue lockers, a young girl, feeling frumpy in her Aéropostale jeans and sweater, clutching a stack of books against her chest. She avoids her locker due to the unseemly crush she has on the boy who lives on the other side of the tracks.
By Myrna Collins3 years ago in Writers
A Retrospective
I will start off by saying that I lived in my head A LOT as a kid. It was ridiculous. I also had zero friends and was dealing with other issues and feelings that I did not really have anyone to talk with about. Dad was there but he had bigger fish to fry, and I knew that, so I didn’t want to trouble him.
By Alicia Anspaugh3 years ago in Writers
