Nonfiction

Broken women 

In 1943 the first version of equal right was introduced. 

This gave women a lot more freedom. 

Now everyone especially men think we are treated fairly.  

As I sped down the mountain, the wind sliced across my face like a dagger. It hooted at me as if to warn me of the danger ahead. If I had known what was to happen that day; I would have listened to the wind.

I’ll say it: I hate our president

All my life, people have written me off as

“different”

“possessed” and

“antisocial”

And while yes

I am different

I am not possessed

I am disabled

Turning away from an old life

Tricky and sometimes with strife

It’s full of things you think you want

Sometimes it will dare to taunt

Why must the things we want be of danger

Where does your hope lie?

Is it in the gentle pelt of rain?

Where does your hope lie?

In something solid that remains?

Where does your hope lie?

Is it in the food you eat

Or the cloud-free sky

He doesn’t look at me
Like I look at him
I know exactly what he does at recess
Where he eats lunch
His middle name
I know what books he likes
What video games
I’ve slept in the same room with him

This country is still here

In some aspects we’ve changed

The rain fell in steady sheets onto the sidewalk, and I shivered. Next to me, my friend Chloe glanced at her watch.

“Four minutes until they let us in.” she rubbed her arms. “It's really cold.”

Imagine a friend who’ll never let go

A friend who’ll never give up

Imagine a friend who is life itself

A friend with the smile brighter than the sun

Closer than a brother

I imagine a friend

I look at my teenage years

I see the pain, I see my fears

I’m still young but I desire that faith

I believe and know I’ll be ok

I fell in a pit

A hole so deep

I couldn’t save me using my wit

Home is where you dream. Where your ideas come to life. A rhythm of thoughts making themselves known, untangled. 

Home. We’re home. I didn’t need to open my eyes. I knew we were home. I knew we were getting close. I had memorized the roads leading from the highway back to the house nestled in the little neighborhood I called home.