Creative Writing Archives

a bubble of silence

By : emc April 30, 2021 No Comment

a bubble of silence sometimes being alone makes sense, i’m alone with my thoughts and my feelings and my discomfort. nothing really make sense these days, the world is in shambles and i’m lost in my own mind; but sometimes when i’m alone it makes sense. it makes sense that i’m tired, well exhausted really. i understand that there’s a toll on my body and my mind from what i’m feeling inside, i get that. it’s fine. sometimes I just need a moment to breathe and understand that this will pass because in the moment it doesn’t feel like it, in the moment it feels like i’m ripping my insides out of my body, it feels like my heart is on fire and i’m doing nothing. so when it makes

Wandering Soul

By : Grace Hasson April 24, 2021 Comments Off

I have a wandering soul. Or merely a single breath of soul that comes and goes. Winds whisk it away like a wish flower’s whispers. She taught me love is not solitary or safe, that we are all in danger all the time anyway so why not dive in headfirst. We said our souls were tangled like loose threads, and I almost started to believe. Years later I say “Whisk me away again” to the open blinds dripping with blurred night sky. So the universe let me walk beside men who taught me not to keep my fingers crossed so tight, and people caught between threads and sheets and wishes just like me. And I found myself again. And again. Even when I didn’t think I was lost at all—there

Sunday Morning

By : Shelonda Montgomery April 16, 2021 Comments Off

Original Publication: Winter - 20207372 - Sinister Wisdom 115 - Lesbian Learning I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend, Abby thinks to herself as she looks through a dirty church window. Anna Benton, the pastor’s daughter, sits alone on a church pew rehearsing her lines for the junior choir’s youth revival performance. Okay, Abby thinks. She looks at her trembling hands and closes her eyes tight. Doubt paralyzes her. She thinks the two locked eyes a few times. Thinks she saw Anna smile at her. Anna Benton is the prettiest girl at Holy Saints Missionary Baptist Church. All of the boys like her and follow her around and the congregation dotes on her because she is proper, well-mannered, polite, and a straight-A student. “What if it’s just me?”

The Songwriter

By : Grace Hasson April 10, 2021 Comments Off

“Is it me?” I ask, leaning my head on her shoulder. The music is loud in the other room, but here, on a couch forgotten by the party, I’m able to ask what I’ve been waiting to ask. “Is what you?” she asks, putting her head on top of mine. Her hair is soft, like someone put feathers on top of my head. The couch beneath me is broken. A metal beam pokes up from under me like an unwanted guest. I shift, but the metal beam persists. “The girl you wrote that song about, it’s me, isn’t it?” She’s quiet for a long time and I wait. I listen to the music flowing into the room, the bass deep as the ocean. For a moment I’m lost in the

Purple

By : Grace Hasson April 10, 2021 Comments Off

The blues come and go like summer showers. They roll down my nose and into the tissue below. And the reds fade in and out. Girls with cheeks burning like embers stick around only when I’m at my lowest. People love to see me burn, but purple—when fire and frigid combine—it’s permanent. Mom was hot and cold at once. She wore a purple apron every day. Years later I feel her presence by the stove and I know I always will.

Abnegation

By : Kirslyn Schell-Smith March 16, 2021 Comments Off

Undetermined date, 20216:13 am “You understand me. We mirror each other. You’re what I see when I look in the mirror and I’m what you see when you don’t.” Undetermined date, 202111:27 pm I wrote something similar several years ago, right when you entered the hospital for the first time. And that was the last time, I think, that I wrote about you. And I didn’t tell you this morning, but you’re not wrong. I am afraid. Not afraid of how your recovery looks or what you are doing, but afraid that it could be me, that it would be me. Your videos, your photos, your messages, your voicemails, your texts, your audio recordings—are what my brain feels like frequently—and I know that you know that. It scares me because

MyUmbrella

Stories

inspired by our authors?

Category: Creative Writing