I could be anyone, or anywhere. I am a daughter, a lover, and a friend. I am human. What more could you need to know?
A Lovable Terrorist
"HOLD IT! HOLD IT! HOLD IT!" I frantically carried my tiny, white puppy with outstretched arms. I ran with her up the stairs, through the house, out the door, down the stairs, and to the grass. I promptly released her and backed away like she was a bomb about to go off. She lifted her tail straight up, and with a shockingly accurate recreation of the Bellagio Fountain, produced a jet of pure liquid poo. "Phew! Made it." I sagged against the railing.
A FAINT SCRAPING AGAINST THE FLOORBOARDS WOKE ME. My eyes opened. Faint, white light informed me it was midnight. Something was moving under the bed. I laid still, hoping in vain that the sound was something my unconscious mind had fabricated—more scrapping.
The Price of Strength
He’s going to die. The thought was crystal clear. It came unsolicited and rang through my mind like the toll of a bell. A singular thought independent of emotion as I found him in the hospital bed. My mind had already processed the information my eyes had provided. It took all of what…. thirty seconds? The rest of me had to play catch up.
Gas Station Yoga
I swore, balancing precariously on my right leg, arms swinging, and narrowly avoided landing ass first on the floor. Holding the door to the stall shut with the tip of my left foot, I tried to park my distended bladder on the toilet seat without touching anything. I'm 25 years old. Sprawled out on the floor of a gas station restroom, with my shorts around my knees, is not how I want to go out.
The Color We Bleed
If you want to know my color, Look inside me. Melanin, Will not define me. Cut me open, See the lines.