elementia

January

By Oli Ray

It’s not January. It just isn’t. The leaves are green and dance together in hoards above my head, almost mocking me in their togetherness as I shrink into my loneliness.


An Ode to My Innocence

By Kathryn Malnight

You ruffled dress.

You lip glossed, 

clean tongued, classy individual.


room 502

By Amanda Pendley

If time could be measured in words

I would handwrite novels until my knuckles bled

Analyze every single piece written by Steven King twice

Type poems so complex so that the meaning gets lost

Construct every screenplay to give you the ending you deserve


ambition, love, ambition

By Samiya Rasheed

Hours are not spent well in lethargy

nor in deep-seated exhaustion

Hours are rarely spent

more – lost


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