This is the third in a series of three pieces. The first can be read here. The second can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
But, god damn it, as if we don’t uproot those mother fuckers right back.
I don’t know if the seeds will ever stop whispering. I don’t know if there will ever be a time when the whispers constantly fall on deaf ears to the point where there’s no whispers at all. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop growing.
This is the second in a series of three pieces. The first can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
It shows in the way she comes out from the bedroom, shirtless, gripping the sides of her hips, pulling her skin from her sides with fists full of flesh, asking of her daughter, “how do I get rid of this?”
by Kayla Blau
When they ask “why didn’t she just leave?”
I want to tell them of failed escape routes
On average, seven attempts to leave
Damp paper planes and keyless locks
Choose-your-own adventure stories that offer no choice.
No exit.
by K.D. Senior
A back breaks in a field,
does it make a sound?
Crackling like lightning,
striking fear into onlookers and passerby’s alike.
No one wants to get whipped.
