Nonfiction

it is terrifying to read two hundred and fifty-year-old writing condemning the king's actions and realize the president (king) of your country is guilty of all of these         

they call us weird...

we speak in code

we lie

we are the accepting LQBTQIA+ ones

we are the "weirdos" and the "freaks" and the "crazies"

but that's to them

to us we are each other

In the early morning I wake. I dress silently and slip out of my sleeping bag. I slowly unzip the tent flap, trying to let my tent mates sleep. The morning air is cold and biting, and a deep fog encases everything around.

What is "The American Political Compass," and why was it written?

Introduction

I have seen someone blame others for their own problems. You have too. We've all known someone at some point in our lives who has. Maybe even ourselves. Especially ourselves. But that's a topic for another day. 

1. Introduction 

In the dialogue Cratylus, Socrates professed, “There is nothing worse than self-deception—when the deceiver is at home and always with you” (Plato, 1953, p. 374).

I felt the coldness of eyes on me. Looking up, I see a boy with chocolate eyes, staring into my soul. My heart skips a beat, but it’s not a good feeling like in the books, no.

In my room, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling late at night, and curled up like a fetus

Been listening to music for a few while now, thinking about things I shouldn’t

I'm watching you lie there, dejected, miserable at your idea of a failure. But it's not a failure if you got impressively high up on the leaderboard, if you got so close to winning but didn't.

the rat is still there

it lurks in the shadows

its claws scratch against the cold stone

the rat persists

it feasts on our true feelings

any sign of our true emotion -

If we can't be one, then we are none.

I wrote this short story poem thing and I really want to make it better but I don't know what to add or fix. Here it is:

The flowers died on a Monday.