Every seven years, all the cells the body has been are gone; replaced. Every seven years we become completely new beings. Which may mean there are two tick marks before Nine Tee will be a name or a tick and Nat-Turner-Nate more tickle than pinch.
First she painted her toenails, a rich sage with some shimmer but no glitter; glitter would be too juvenile. She painted her toes and carefully drew an acetone soaked q-tip around them which made her hand appear to have been more steady than it had truly been. This walking away thing unnerved her. She didn’t [...]
So fiction is part of this Final Girl series. Full disclosure: I stopped trusting my fiction after a too-long stint in middle and high school with novellas about girls named Raisin. Yes, those stories happened. Of course, the day may come when I side eye this the same way. But for now, here goes... --d [...]
My final exam for my Modern Dance class was to choreograph a multi-genre piece using some of the moves we'd studied. I created "Journeys" wherein I danced to Curtis Mayfield's "Think" and recorded a poem about figuring out what artsy revolutionary shit I could get into post-graduation. There was graduate school in creative writing (check) [...]
You always imagine that You will be elated to be visited by a man You had strong feelings for. Any one of them. (There were several). You have told Yourself again and again that the romps on leather couches, Buffalo Wild Wings, and way too long games of chess were not love. You have told [...]