By F.G. Liauw Within the jungle, she runs. Tumbling under foliage, listening for bird song, knowing that any other animal, will only mean the end. Between the cracks, she waits. Radio pressed to a shuddering chest, Protected by a sling and a heart, the only means for a girl, learning to be a boy, learning to be a secret. Inside her home, she seeks. A memory of a smile, of a time when her mother worried about who she’d marry. Before, scissors met long dark hair. Before, sh

By Kiley Baker A user, I believe the term of choice was. At least that’s how I remember the sting of the alphabet arranged in a way like no other. Especially potent when chosen and uttered, by one’s own regretful mother. I thought my health problems were parasites. Turns out it’s me. I’m the bug that needs eradication from houses that aren’t mine, and places where I apparently take more than I give. Just don’t step on me – I might make a mess. I’m pretty gross after all.

By Georgina O'Neill The tears fall like blood, Thick, deliberate, unforgiven. She weeps the pain that almost died But pain never dies. It sleeps beneath her ribs, Waking when the night forgets its stars. A corner of her mind festers Black, swollen with hate, hurt, anger, death. No light dares touch it. If it ever broke its chains, Freedom itself would bleed. The paws of darkness claw through, Raking the walls she rebuilds in vain. Each barrier crumbles, Each scar hums with me