Five days ago, the city had cut down my sister’s tree, and I’d known immediately that it would be the final straw—the tipping point in my sister’s grief. There
The tale of the butterfly and the wasp is not a famous story, but I know it well. Farrah was a blonde beauty with ocean-blue eyes always filled with the brightness of laughter
“We’re staying for the whole week?” Felicity exclaimed. “But Mom, if we stay for that long, then Hayden and I will only have one day left for break.” “Felicity,” her mom chided,
I went to find a sea of gold, A sea of gold, of shining gold, A sea of the purest, finest gold Beneath a sheet of glass. I traveled over seven hills That
Busted boots and broken buckles Seasoned scars and signs of struggle Hollow heart and helpless hustle So much harm, the world is shattering— Do not conform! What you see may break you down,
I could not climb the mountain to reach Victory. My own blood had to be shed for a clean slate— But You did it for me. Filling my cup with good deeds, I
Crushing crystallized snow toward The ice’s edge. Brother ran and Slid long solitaire, rubber boots Rasping. I hedged, then stepped Steady out to where he stood. Gray sky hovered over silver Lake.
The trees glow under the yellow lights, And acorns crack beneath my feet. The wind whips down the leaf-strewn street, Taking little leaves for little flights. Crystal dew blankets the blue grass, And
Sometimes I just can’t catch a break. Sundays are wonderful days for writing. I have hours of free time where I can lock myself away in my room and write the stories
My depression clung to me like a black lead cloak. A clasp held the cloak to my shoulders, bound by a lock for which I had no key. I've had various bouts of
Dutifully crossing my arms behind my back, I listened as my superior listed my project of the week. Seated on his stool and stroking his goatee, he leaned forward on his desk strewn
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
Desert-grimed sandals stop a few feet away from her. The dark-haired owner of the sandals looks at her. He loves her. Questions and hurts reverberate inside her. They don’t fade, but only