Non-Fiction

Opening the pain of the ones I’ve lost to merge with the countless unknowns, the privilege of life in this infinite vastness, and still what of Gaza, Sudan, Ukraine and nobody talking of climate change in the carbon choked skies.

Prison officials added new charges against Quierza, claiming the GoFundMe somehow constituted “bribery and solicitation.” It was illogical, baseless, and devastating. He hadn’t asked me to do it. The money wasn’t even going to him; it was going to his family, for legal representation. 

I guess I would say the ambition is easy to maintain because it sustains itself on my fundamental enthusiasm to talk about movies or anything else in media that interests me.

...when I was first diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis at the age of 20, it really was a shock to the system. I’d been drawing and writing since childhood and art was always such a huge part of my identity.

Art was a 51-year-old Polish green card holder who had lived in the States since kindergarten, but the 2025 political climate was threatening enough that he felt compelled to secure his status.

I told of the hero’s kindness in pulling a thorn from a lion’s paw and was telling about the Roman emperor sending Christians to be eaten by lions when Sarah had a happy thought. “I would be safe,” she chirped brightly.

i feel like every single thing i did before reclaiming my title as a diarist was a serious injury to what i want to do as a writer. line breaks were broken bones slowing me down from grabbing the big belt which for me are volumes of anti-novels, serial essays, and notes.

I tell him about peach cobbler and jackets and playing musical chairs because my mom told me she couldn't handle me anymore and she wouldn't hug me before she left the hospital aren't jokes and veer dangerously away from indifference.

October 19, 1983, a firing squad led by Deputy Prime Minister Bernard Coard, machine-gunned Prime Minister Maurice Bishop and members of the New Jewel Movement in the Fort Rupert courtyard. On 25 October, the USA invaded Granada.

We passed through the alleys with our sweat-soaked backpacks, past ten live chickens in a single cage, past animal organs soaking in red vinegar preservatives, past smiling grandmothers sitting on the same stool they’ve sat upon for two hundred years.