Ximena Reyna
Sometimes the best times to write are at 2 in the morning, when sleep fails you. These are some thoughts that surged in that drowsy and melancholy state, and I hope that if someone connects to the poem, they will feel a little less alone upon discovering that they’re not the only ones with little
What is something you’re good at? My hand stops abruptly. I hesitate. What are you good at? Simple enough, but I can’t think of an answer. I blow stray hairs away from my eyes and pretend to write something when I see my potential employer looking at me. Two minutes later I hand her the
“Maybe we just lived between hurting and healing” -Benjamin Alire Saenz Much time had passed since I had picked up a book that had such a lasting impact on me and caused me to feel such a spectrum of emotions. After reading books like Harry Potter and When You Reach Me, I’ve come to the realization
There are few people that I have met in my life that share the same love for writing as me. In attempt at an enjoyable schedule my senior year of high school, I decided to take a journalism class. Through this, I met Minnah Arshad, a sixteen-year-old girl at Plymouth High School who plans to
I pulled you into my arms and rocked you back and forth. Tears fell down your cheeks. You had a fever and a bad one too. You hadn’t slept or eaten well for days. But I held you and played with your hair. I was six years old when mom and dad told me about
As a long established introvert, books became my safe haven as early as the age of five. One of my earliest memories is sitting outside on my porch with a notebook on my lap and not a clue on how to write. Naturally, crayon in hand, I scribbled away and made my very own dialect
As a music aficionado, I really like a good song or album to cry to. After asking my friend to recommend me music for a sixteen-hour car ride, I was incredibly surprised by the existence of this amazing album. Funeral by Arcade Fire is constructed around the concept of aware lyrics that speak to problems many
Every muscle in her body fought for a hopeless cause. A promise made by a 15-year-old at her best friend’s house. No peer pressure. No giving in, the habits that so separated them from their parents would remain inactivated genes in their DNA. And yet, she was here. Fingers fumbling in the darkness for a
