lgbtq
The letters LGBTQ are just another way of saying that Love is Love.
The Art of Amnesia
In a rectangular chair with boxy wooden arms pressing uncomfortably into my ribcage, my entire body sinks with exhaustion. The room is flooded with aggressive fluorescent light and I rest my forehead in my palm to spare my eyes the relentless attack. I keep one leg crossed over the other so I can bounce one foot in the air; the only physical release of my frustration and concern.
By Emily Goswick5 years ago in Humans
Ruby Red
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. A delicate hand maneuvers a pencil as it scratches its lead marks on a blank sheet of loose-leaf paper. Snap. With great force the delicate hand snaps the pencil in two and lays it dead on the paper next to its other half. Snap. Another pencil is broken and laid next to the two. Snap, a third. Six pieces of pencil side by side.
By Sandra Lee5 years ago in Humans
We Could Have Seen Castles
Rue scrutinized the peeling black polish on her bitten-too-short nails. Why did she always do that? She chewed and chewed until her mouth tasted like acetone and spoiled fruit and her fingers burned and bled. Her mother would remind her it wasn’t ladylike to bite her nails, and it certainly wasn’t sanitary, and what boy would be interested in asking a girl to prom who treated her fingers like corn on the cob?
By Rebecca Rathor5 years ago in Humans
Under fluorescent lights
“Love is sacrifice… you have to put yourself aside” my uncle said as he repositioned himself on his decades old caramel-colored leather chair. The phrase is the only thing that resonated with me for some reason so I wrote it down. I suddenly realized this is the only composition of words in this notebook. They danced and seemed electric in my uncles pastoral office. One bulb was on its last leg and the flickering made the faux wood paneling- which was decades older than the chair- come to life with faceless orbs and oscillating tree rings. “Do you hear me boy?” I suddenly looked up with the intent of presence. “Yes Sir” I said. “Daydreaming is not going to make this process any faster and certainly not going to set you on the path to salvation boy.” I hated when he called me boy. So condescending for a 17 year old and most likely a power move on his part. Suddenly a section of the paneling cracked open and I thought I was hallucinating from the last 20 minutes of this spastic fluorescent bulb. “Sister Barbara really wants you to meet her grandson.” my aunt said poking her head in with a soft and cautious voice. “Oh alright, I guess we're done here and I'm starving!” grunted my uncle as he fixed his tie and gave me a look that made me feel like an adolescent.
By Osbaldo deleon 5 years ago in Humans
The One Who Waits
My life is in one room: four boxes on the kitchen floor, an overstuffed duffle bag on the counter, my keys on the table. Looking at my belongings, all I feel is shame: the brooding child of love and hate which has eaten away at me every day since June left. I laugh to myself, a dark, sharp chuckle that bounces off the emptiness around me. We are born alone and we die alone. But isn’t life about connection? Isn’t love what makes life worth living? Bags and boxes stuffed with my things, but now that she’s gone, I have nothing.
By Morgan Hood5 years ago in Humans
Page 56
Page 1: It’s been three months since he disappeared without an explanation. I’m a 27-years-old man, but I still have the emotional stability of a 12-year-old girl who’s trying to get over a boy. It’s completely unjustified. I don't even know his full name. But I know he has thigh tattoos and he makes me feel safe. I’ve spent three months wanting to feel safe again, which is stupid because I’ve spent seven years getting used to having PTSD. The gas station TV told me to make a vision board. I went to an office store to print photos. While I was there, I found this little black notebook. I hope starting this journal will help me feel okay again. I’ll write again tomorrow.
By Luke Haddad5 years ago in Humans
Follow the Rules
Tessa sat down towards the back of the bus. She’d had a long day at work, full of meetings and the never-ending feeling that her to-do list was getting longer not shorter. Meetings were so frustrating – she couldn’t get any work done during them, and she always left them with more work. She pulled out her phone, more to look busy and avoid being engaged by strangers in conversation than any real need.
By Chris Cunliffe5 years ago in Humans
The premiere
Come on, answer, I cannot wait anymore. I know it’s early but I had to share the news with Adam. Adam is my best friend. We met on our first year in college and have been best friends ever since. Even though I am gay and he is... something, we have never hooked up or even gotten close to hooking up. Yes, I had feelings for him at some point, if you must know, but that was only for a second, in between pining for my now ex and I have not given it thought since. Well, except maybe now since I brought it up. But I digress, this is not the story of Adam and me, who by the way is almost 3000 miles away while I am house sitting for my uncle in Greece, this is all about...
By Vasileios Papadimas5 years ago in Humans
