Clark Moyer

PSYCHO. CRAZY. DRAMATIC. people put labels on things they don’t understand. the tears trickle out of my eyes one                                                  by                                                            one. unbidden, unwanted, and not understood. the doctor tells me the pills

the joker & the queen, they said but they forgot the fool . . . the one whose face turned cherry red, and never kept her cool. the words she said never failed to fall on

My mom is in the kitchen. She’s cooking my favorite meal, and the smell wafts down the hallway, past the pictures on the wall, and into my room. She tells me how

I just love the American education system. Especially when it comes to middle school. Someone somewhere decided that it would be a great idea to throw a bunch of hormonal, confused, prepubescent individuals

The gel from my ink pen smears across the page. I don’t remember who I was before. I don’t know who I will be after I finish bleeding on the pages

I’ve always loved reading; it gives me an escape into a world that’s not my own, such as the factions in Divergent or the Massachusetts island in We Were Liars. It

When I joined speech and debate my sophomore year of high school, I had no idea just how much I would grow. Anyone who knows me will tell you I can’t shut

Beeping from my alarm clock stirs me from my all-too-short slumber. I pound the snooze button before burrowing underneath my favorite blanket. Fatigue creeps through my body and gently shuts my eyes for