we could see the sadness as a gift and still feel too heavy to hold
— adrianne lenker – sadness as a gift
Yes, we finally started creating our 2024 Highlights playlist ! 🙂
Tag: magazine
meltingicecreamcones
Writing Prompt, VII.
Yes, we’re succumbing to the inevitability of a certain date, but hopefully not all its clichés. We offer you this prompt with hopes to ground ourselves somehow in the face of the world, find the right fuel to hold on and fight for better.
So, we warmly invite you (today or any other day of the year) to send us your thoughts, in the form of writing or visual art or basically anything, on the theme of love. Find a few questions to inspire you below.
Read More »cassie
by Maddie Maschger
i think i talked myself into a self-fulfilling prophecy again
like some self-righteous modern day cassandra
Read More »Ten Years (and why I still talk about Nico di Angelo all the time)
by Daisy Solace
It’s 2013. I’m 11, living in Saudi Arabia, and anticipating House of Hades’s release with bated breath, counting down the days. It’s all I talk about, my best friend is getting sick of me. I’m insufferable, and I like it. I haven’t been into Percy Jackson for very long — just about a month by this point, but it’s found its space in my head and settled there.
As a kid who had always felt ALONEALONEALONEalonealonealone, it’s nice to read about a boy who’d changed schools so much that he has no friends, except for the one whose job it is to protect him. It’s nice to read about a boy who knows the truth: that the best people have the rottenest luck. It’s nice to read about a boy who, despite this, fights. After rows upon rows of pleasant protagonists, there’s a certain level of solace (pun intended) in Percy Jackson. He’s not easy. He’s not agreeable. He’s angry, rowdy, and, as Percy would come to say in the musical, impertinent. As a fellow impertinent child, I’m delighted.
Read More »3 poems
by Belana Beeck
There are many secrets here we must discoverRead More »
As everything seems to be undercover
Sand Angels
by Darcy Duncan
Into the dark we swim.
You tell me your name underwater.
It sounds different than it did on land.
More like mine: anonymous.
Read More »The Real Willy Wonka
by Blaire Baron
It is still dark and the early morning cacophony has yet to greet the day. The others have already left and Washington knows they aren’t waiting for him, not this time. With no Mum to wake him, he’s getting better at finding his clothes in the dark. Washington scoops up a sticky ball of yesterday’s ugali and pops it in his mouth before rushing out of the ramshackle maze. He zig-zags past sleeping mothers and babes. Everything here is laid bare, there are no doors and there’s nothing here to steal.
Some might call it a labor camp but to Washington, it’s home. Out of the maze now, he runs toward the line of humming shadows holding machetes. Washington grins up at one of his uncles.
Read More »A Flare
by William Doreski
A flare on a dark horizon
draws our attention inland.
Something metallic is happening,
something more primal than war.
You want to slap on a backpack
heavy with food and munitions
and hike to the edge of things,
Read More »
Sphinx Street
by Glen Armstrong
It has barbs but doesn’t cling,
seeps through one’s shoes
like puddle water.
It once slowed down to listen
Read More »
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