this is for you. the women who have carried pain, silently, timidly, swallowing it like bile over and over again.
You chained me up Made me your slave I carried you everywhere I went You made me leave my friends
do not ask me why i stayed, ask him why his love had to see me burn and break. ask
I’ve always heard that it takes a big dream and a whole lot of hard work to get to something
Albeit the southwestern fatherland of Arizona is an arid dust bowl residential to desiccated tumbleweeds and a globetrotter’s “bucket list”
About two or three years ago, I came across an article that was on one hand amusing, yet also
I am my mother’s language kneaded among the discolored patches of my skin & I am teeth skidding across
Below is a collection of poetry and prose that I wrote in hopes of being poignant to help me get through
the first annual neurotypical versus neuroatypical debate a poem for may’s mental health awareness month by alexandria piette
This is for the woman who gave birth to me. Do you remember? The way your belly swelled with my