Image courtesy of Wix Identity by Shaghayegh Ghezlayagh I think of my footsteps. My mother's back breaking. My father's heart breaking....

Image: Flickr | Edmund Garman The wind whipped against my face as I stood on the edge of the cliff. My heartbeat increased from inside of...

Judith watched as the rain pattered down outside her window. Well, not her window, technically, the hospice owned it – but they were...

At first, the leaves shift cherry red, orange and yellow until thinning to a crisp brown. Heavy curtains of leaves folded over fences,...

I hit my teeth on the glass as I wrench the remaining liquid down my throat. It’s duller than it was last time, but still I can feel it:...

“Ma,” the stitched together girl says. “Ma, it’s dead.” Ma bends down and looks at the pigeon lying like a broken heart on the...

I wrote this poem when I felt as if my voice was being silenced by those around me I wrote this poem, aware of the stereotypes about...