Writing

Man at desk with black birds
["Asgardian Seagulls," digital art by cedar, YWP]
  • Poetry

    By LGC

    How

    How do we live 

    Knowing others cannot?

    How do we breathe 

    Knowing our comfort is at the hands of hidden devastation?

    How do we laugh

    when all around us Tears seem to be the only logical response?

  • Fatal Orbit

    She carried around a lip gloss with her, reminiscent of jam and the fruits I used to eat in my youth. It appears darker in the bottle than on her lips, yet she says it is perfect the way it is.

  • Pretty

    Pretty. 
    A word I have been called a few times. 
    But why can’t I see it? Why do I look at others and think they’re beautiful. 
    Why can’t I see myself the same way? 

  • We All Bleed

    Blood spills onto our streets too much.

    The streets were once safely kept

    but now they're permanently stained

    with cries, sirens, and death. 

     

    The harrowing cold of the family house,