By Kelcie McKenney
A pinch.
Her thumb and forefinger held fast the softness at her middle. She stood—knobby kneed in her stretched out underwear, the fabric thin from nights of tossing and turning, her t-shirt pulled up just under her breast.
A pinch, creating a spread of warmth and reddness, seeping through the skin of her belly.
And she sighed—longingly looking into the mirror at a body that didn’t feel like her own.
Continue readingBy Kylie Kinsella
Photo by Volkan Olmez
You can’t believe that this could happen.
You can’t believe it’s been going on for so long.
You can’t believe the evil lurking behind the silver screen.
You’re disgusted and shocked and telling everyone you’re appalled.
But I recall a time when you didn’t believe the ones you claimed to know,
to trust,
to love.
You didn’t believe that this happened.
You didn’t believe they’d been doing it for so long.
You didn’t believe the evil lurking in your circle.
Maybe you forgot, but I assure you
we remember.
By Jenny Doocy
Taylor Johnson parked the rusted old pickup truck in front of a suburban mansion, two houses down from the intended destination, and sent a short text that simply read here. Being chivalrous and walking up to the door, at the risk of being seen in this part of town, was not an option. In other situations a quick honk would have sufficed, but seeing as neither of them wanted to draw attention to their meeting—that is, any more attention than a beat up truck in this neighborhood would cause—a text message seemed the way to go.
Taylor waited for Jordan Smith, releasing nervous energy by drumming two long, slender fingers against the steering wheel, body moving to the rhythm of the music coming from the old radio, sneakers tapping against the pedals to match the beat of the fingers.
Photo by Steve Halama
By Hope Grey
Photo by Cherry Laithang
I cannot remember the date
Of which I was last raped
I believe I was eight,
When my virtue was at stake
When my soul left its gate
When a serpent took my fate
No, I cannot remember when
But I do remember the sin
I remember the choice that was stolen
And the heart, which remains broken.
Hope Grey
By Hope Grey
Photo by Molly Belle
I’m trying to tell you something!
But you won’t listen
Why can’t you see that my heart has a sting?
This burden, it has gone unforgiven!
The pain that it brings.
But, it has made me strong
because I was so young.
I want you to stop!
I think that you ought!
I wish you’d be caught!
Oh, how I should have fought!
But, I was only eight
and I took the bait!
Catcall 