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Literature

Generations

To my naïve generation, yielding, too inexperienced for truth. Politics, panic, purgatory yet untouched. We hardly know love from lust. To my gullible generation, unthinking, with media’s unending hiss. Bidders buy young minds.…

Ode to Morning

Nighttime sighs her last goodbyes, Sweet sunlight trickles in. I've never moved my arm so fast, This alarm makes such a din. My muscles ache, my eyelids burn, Don't ask about my head. If I must do this every day– I wish that I…

Two poems

November Rose Your friend cried because she was too busy to get sick, you dropped everything and crossed the room to kiss her forehead. I longed to catch her cold and wished I knew how to cry. Your taxi never came because I got the…

Dear Mr. Christianson

The letter I should have wrote to Mr. Christianson: Thank you for going to bat for me, for bending the rules, for talking the principal into letting me graduate even though technically, I had too many absences, for seeing my talent and…