Tyler Clark (he/they)
Bio
I am a writer, poet, and cat parent from California. My short stories and poems have been published in a chaotic jumble of anthologies, collections, and magazines.
Achievements (12)
Stories (58)
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I Was A Teenage Anarchist
Before she coughed in clouds of tear gas; before she threw her first brick through a corporate window; before she was tackled at the Republican party convention for dumping bloody tampons over the head of a congressional candidate; before screaming into microphones, megaphones, and the face of ignorance; before she became known in memes and headlines across the world for direct political action; before she was a famous punk rocker, fashion icon, activist, and all-around badass—
By Tyler Clark (he/they)5 months ago in Fiction
7 Ways to Evaporate
Stare into the fire too long. Step on a crack (do this after getting cursed by a witch; most witches will do this for free except for witches of the verdant variety—the kind that specialize in hearth & home—she won't curse you unless you break her heart first). Only smile at people who don't smile back, then listen to a sad song. Any sad song will do. I recommend Elliot Smith. Get a degree in the humanities, then spend the next ten years looking for work. Watch your student loans grow. Ivy over a garden wall. Eventually, the amount you owe is more than what you borrowed. (Note: In the end, the amount you owe is always more than what you borrowed.) Burn all of your journals. Do not recycle them. This would be a mistake. Your words might reincarnate and find meaning again as a cardboard box for a litter of kittens, or a bandage wrapped around the knee of a boy who fell off his bike. Get lost in an art museum or an ex's embrace. This will only last a day. But you can always return to what makes you break, and let it happen again. Make someone forget you. This is not as easy as it sounds.
By Tyler Clark (he/they)5 months ago in Poets
Boiling Point
The heat robs you of your very will to do anything about it. Last night, I heard vans and jackboots outside my window. I woke up to the sound of tire treads over gravel, and a van door sliding open. I flinched when I heard glass break. I bit down on my pillow when I heard someone beg. I heard voices muffled by masks speak in authoritative downbeats. No questions; only commands.
By Tyler Clark (he/they)6 months ago in Fiction
Snapshots of God's Image. Second Place in Pride Under Pressure Challenge. Content Warning.
This is a ghost story, but not the way you think. Snapshot 1: A Crooked Smile I wasn’t sure if I was bi until I met Elliot. He sat down next to me in Comparative Literature and that was the last nail in the coffin. I found myself staring at the shapes and lines of his face—his jaw, the way he nudged his glasses up his nose—symmetry adorkably skewed by a crooked tooth whenever he smiled. I melted. He was a revelation.
By Tyler Clark (he/they)8 months ago in Pride
