A poem that's not a poem yet.

I really don't like myself today. It's my birthday tomorrow. I have no plans to celebrate. I have no one to celebrate with. I know that I'm

The mighty wings of the butterfly.

If my friend wants to drive after having a few too many drinks, and I hide her keys because that's a stupid idea, should I feel guilty if she decides to

Not so random Words that look like ducks

For months, the first sentence of this essay was: “I once believed the world was safe, that people were kind, and that differences could be set aside”. This was a lie though, cooked