Women can’t drive my car, he said, adjusting his mirrored sunglasses. Because it’s stick? I asked. Because they don’t know how to drive fast, he …
The Nameplate by Rowena Taylor
The hospice smells too clean. Nurses wheel around heavy carts of grief. The immensity of our love makes us ill with sadness. How imposing that …
How I learnt to love myself by Indya Shaw
The first seedling of self hate was planted in me during my first year of school, when a group of grade six girls pinned me …
I THOUGHT IT HAD GONE AWAY (or, a poem about anxiety) by Madeleine Christie
Oh, there’s something coiled around my chest again. I did not know that snakes could hibernate until this one woke up. Have you ever heard …
you have boobs now and this means… by Lydia Wang
men sometimes stare means there are sizes and colors and you look in the mirror and barely recognize your own body morphing and growing. this …
Kissing Boys That Taste Like Ink and Spitting Fire in Motel Sinks by Lindsey Hobart
The first boy I kiss doesn’t write. He doesn’t understand why my bedroom walls tell stories that are sixteen years too long. He does not …
Fragmented by Meghana Mysore
I started speaking around the age of one. But the words weren’t very profound, no; they were nothing more than letters clumped together. Monosyllabic sounds …
PBR by Phoebe Lyons
That night, I slipped out of the house with my hair in knots and toasted my DARE officer with a Coors Light from the passenger …