Becoming Linda
Ties that Linda’s beauty hid well. Locked away tight in the pit of her perfectly flat stomach. Eyes set like topaz jewels masking the truth. No one with skin like bronze had troubles. No, not Linda.
Flash Nonfiction
Only the Good (Guinea Pigs) Die Young
That gruesome adolescent heartbreak you go through again and again and again and then evolves into real heartbreak, the kind you can’t just shrug off as kid feelings. It starts here.
Questions after you said I died a million times in you
Who sings honeyed dirges for the dead while their warm hands make love with someone else’s warm hands?
In it
Sorrow a monotonous tune, like the weeping of this lonesome cunt. I cry because I am two hours behind his time zone always, and maybe that means I am also two hours behind grieving us always.
Draft 1/Draft 5
I write creative nonfiction, and that means that I lay in your arms and think about how I would describe it, our bodies next to each other in the dark while it storms outside, how I ask you to leave the fan off so we can hear it.
![A response to, in conversation with, with regards to, The Entire [REDACTEDRED] of [REDAC TE DRE DACTE]](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1593705366178-d611f3fa0c2f?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=MnwxMTc3M3wwfDF8c2VhcmNofDh8fHN0ZWFtcHVua3xlbnwwfHx8fDE2ODIxODIwMjY&ixlib=rb-4.0.3&q=80&w=720)
A response to, in conversation with, with regards to, The Entire [REDACTEDRED] of [REDAC TE DRE DACTE]
Long spidery clockwork orange lashes and you hate to be shushed like that by your mum or other grown-ups or anyone. And you will still not know what sex is for years, years after you did it even.
To the Tampon
men aren’t supposed to bleed.