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Anida
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"that time you drank too much and couldn't be there and my date had a thing and couldn't come either, that was shitty."

"you seemed okay. you didn't seem like you needed me so i thought it would be okay," she said, the same half full glass of(more)
empty drawers, space in the bookshelf, walls that are covered in paint and nothing else, a heavy lump of a bag hunched in the corner, saying pick up, go, move already.

before the things spread across the surfaces of things, little pieces of life and trash, things onc(more)
it starts small, at the corners of the eyes, how they lift and crinkle when i say her name. i don't mean it. i mean to say i have a friend, a friend who is special. we've been friends for a long time.

when i speak of her(more)
here, place self in building, one block on top of another until building blocks encase and hide behind the thick plastic edges and look out where the light bleeds through, see legs scissor down the street, a leash without a dog, the clop clop clop of boots on sidewalk,(more)
Not later now, now now. yeah, I'll do it when I'm done with when I finish thinking about after I catch up on that thing I meant to do before that other thing happened.

not ahead of time. is it possible to get in front of time, t(more)
the pencil was under the table, the pencil which Baby Bear put up his nose. It rolled between the chair legs.

"are you going to get that?"
(more)
Injustice is as transparent as the round brown spot on the teacher's nose every day. What's that from? Coffee. The thermos drips, and yet coffee is life and so I have to accept that a coffee-spotted nose is my lot in life.  
(more)
erase, write, erase, write, right write not right is still right--how did long ago happen so quick. the change in breath, a softening of middle--it isn't possible to use up all of your words on other people, the children, the children--before, i still never finished my stories. all stories(more)
I am in a cabin filled with friends far far away from the children and the hard shiny floors of that building in that city and i have never been so tired, so stressed i get headaches, must find a moment to breathe outsde of teaching, outside of the(more)
i wear earplugs to get sleep in the city that never says goodnight to loud sounds outside my window. an argument at the bus stop, the bus stopping, sighing and broadcasting the next stop. the theme song of dexter vibrating the wall--an omen. the cat pawing the door, then(more)
write write write until the end of the time. i challenge you to keep your pens moving, and yet, my mouth moves more readily than my pen. i challenge you, and i reward you with a sticker which is a symbol of excellence, a placating mechanism which will keep(more)
Hoods down, hoods down, drive with your hood down, don't walk down the hallways with your hood up, don't wear a hoodie at all don't become another black kid was it a wallet was it a gun was it a candy bar bar another kind of bars not stripes,(more)
for no decipherable reason except the obvious one, i can't do anything aside from wake up on weekends and pour hot coffee down my throat and then promptly return to my position in bed, curled around a laptop, streaming the most shallow plotlines into my barely cognizant brain. it(more)
what what what will happen when the kids shuffle through the door, read the name of the board? who will speak first?

undoubtedly they will. how many, though? they will call me ms. but it will sound like miss. i've had enough students to know that miss is(more)
this is a story of a garden, two potted plants and a gardener. the garden belonged to the garden. she cultivated the plants, drizzled water into their roots, and spent time with them. in a small corner of the garden far away from the other plants, there were two(more)