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As featured in Girls Write Now and Scholastic Art and Writing...
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Simran Singh: Poetry
How Much Is Waking Up? “How much is it?” I say to the lady in my dreams. “How much is what?” says the kind lady. “How much is it for me to open my eyes in the morning?” I say with a soft smile, waiting for a response. The lady looks at me and sighs, seeing my lack of knowledge. “Well, young lady, waking up is actually priceless.” “Is it really?” I release a breath of relief. She smiles and says, “Ye...” By then, I woke up. I look at where I am: in bed, ready to start the
Simran Singh
Jul 9


Lauren Kawamoto: A Coke for an MV
The bell clanged against the door harshly and discordantly rather than with its usual sweet tinkle. With the abrupt sound also came a jerk of movement from the counter: twenty-something MY NAME IS ___, the primary cashier of Lawson Mini Mart for all of four months. Her stint as the convenience store’s four-to-nine caretaker had, for the most part, been an uneventful one; she kept the back area tidy, she would make her rounds throughout the tiny store to restock or just let
Lauren Kawamoto
Jul 9


Azure Rodriguez: Poetry Collection
Fingerprints I Try To Wear. I was hollow, so I bent. Let them mold me, let them dent. Every hand that claimed to care Left fingerprints I couldn’t wear. “Too quiet,” they said. So I tore my seams, Unraveled my voice into tangled dreams. Thread by thread, I bled my plea. Soft and silent, “Please love me.” “Too cold,” they hissed. So I burned my grace, Peeled my skin to show my face. Warmth spilled out in crimson lace, They touched the wounds and called it safe. My ches
Azure Rodriguez
Jul 6


S. Yasmin: The Blank Page
I didn't know what to draw on the blank page. How can I capture my future on a single sheet of paper? I'm not even a good artist, let alone a fortune teller. The future is the most unpredictable thing in the world, especially for a lass like me in a suburban village and with no grand fortune to back me up or whatsoever. My mind is a pond of ideas but none of my thoughts are the fish I hope to catch. The art teacher will soon finish his stroll, walk back into the class, and
S. Yasmin
Jul 6


Orla Dubois: Poetry Collection
Unseen Daughters death by a million cuts, the words of mothers, bleeding daughters. hearts that are never pure enough, bodies that are...
Orla Dubois
Sep 29, 2025


Grace Kim: Whitewash
First stage: Exposure The blue fascinated me. The only time I’d seen them was on television or magazine covers, a tall, blond, and blue...
Grace Kim
Sep 29, 2025


Charlotte Swim: Playing God: Navigating the Ethical Dilemmas of Genetically Modified Mosquitoes
Abstract Genetically modified mosquitoes (GMMs) represent a promising innovation to combat vector-borne diseases (VBDs) like malaria and...
Charlotte Swim
Sep 22, 2025


Namra Ali Khan: Poetry Collection
A Gamble Called New Life Since childhood, there was a home so dear, Where love was certain, and none to fear. A place where whims were...
Namra Ali Khan
Sep 22, 2025


Namra Ali Khan: Girl Who Rose from Her Ashes
Some girls are born with a voice that roars, and some are born with a voice that whispers. She was the latter. The kind of girl who...
Namra Ali Khan
Sep 22, 2025


Arya Alapati: Albinism/vision
88 percent of the human population believe vision to be the most important sense. But what about those who lack most of their vision? How...
Arya Alapati
Aug 28, 2025


Kayla Bauserman: Poetry Collection
A Little Help I’m all grown, now flying free. No parents. soaring with the breeze, my wings are strong. Feathers flurried with hope, I...
Kayla Bauserman
Aug 28, 2025


Judith Sandler: Poetry Collection
SE Decision Street Cover your body in rags made from ripped-up, torn, unwanted thrifted dresses and cover your face in glitter taken from...
Judith Sandler
Aug 25, 2025


Aschea Ng: Poetry Collection
Questions for the Grave What do I know of death? do you feel it saturated in the dribble on your chin, caressing your lungs after...
Aschea Ng
Aug 23, 2025


Cynthia Li: Poetry Collection
Fieriest Killer of the Big Kisser The lady with inky piebald frock always gazes at me fervently when I lie on the grass when I wear my...
Cynthia Li
Aug 23, 2025


Maggie Brunner: It was a late summer night
I am driving, in my hometown of Salt Lake City, up Emigration canyon. It is dry in the valley and the road is lined with tall yellow...
Maggie Brunner
Aug 3, 2025


Enzo Limongi: Blue Mountains
No matter how far Rene drove the mountains did not seem to come any closer. They did not move further back either; it looked like they...
Enzo Limongi
Aug 3, 2025


Ganeev Kaur: Fa$hion
The struggle of one who tries to keep up what's “in style,” often mirrors that of Sisyphus. Just when the boulder makes its way up the...
Ganeev Kaur
Aug 3, 2025


Simone Ryan: The Mass Destruction of Masculinity
A fracture doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it hums beneath the surface, disguised as a slow unraveling. And, in the quiet corridors of...
Simone Ryan
Jul 31, 2025


Catherine Burkhardt: The Case For Straws
The last thing we all want on a nice summer day is soggy paper in our drink, but going to the beach and stepping on a crinkly, stinky...
Catherine Burkhardt
Jul 13, 2025


Quinn Marley Garcia: Poetry Collection
exhale the water My mind is full of sand. I walk home at dusk and it is like the sun is singing the ancient song of my name. I’m quite...
Quinn Garcia
Jul 2, 2025
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