Nonfiction

The wind was whipping by my face. I was sprinting as fast as I could to the open goal desperately wanting to get my first goal of the season. To my right a defender was gaining on me. To stay ahead of her, my feet’s movement kicked up a notch.

When I was 13 I wanted to die.
I looked out at my perfect world
And felt none of it.
None of that could save me from my own brain.
Anxiety and depression pulled me 
Into my dark depths of self-loathing.

I couldn't figure out what I wanted to write about 

Our Ash Tree

By: Greta L.

Today I cried.
I cried because my teacher sat down my class and made us watch a documentary on how we are killing coral reefs.
It showed pictures of beautiful plants and animals thirty years ago

Dear Taco,

This is a rant of the worst thing in my life.

It was so horrible.
And today I missed everyone and everything so much
All my memories are too clear,
I can’t shake myself of the pain.
I was supposed to have fun.

What is a blueprint, exactly? Is it a tinted piece of vellum, or a map laying out the steps to take in order to be successful?

It's never easy to get those words on the page. To open up and be vulnerable. As a writer I know that feeling when it is over. When you have written something. This relief floods through your body.