Lily Myers

Very happy to have a new poem, “The Weight”, published on Words Dance Magazine!!

Check it out HERE.

We’ve been having a blast with erasure poems, and here’s what I came up with! (An erasure of Jude Law and a Semester Abroad by Brand New)

Whatever poison this broken

genie owes. Last wish: to let you exist.

His lips plan for forty second hands.

Fed me anything wreckage. I still taste

all this empty, flawless weather.

The hour rains time. And never lied

New poem up @ Uppagus Mag!

Looking for prompts, videos and inspiration to get your pen moving? Our first mini workshop goes live next week!

New Fiction: Happiness is a Blood God by Chelsea Coreen

My therapist has steel wool hair and a fleshy ditch where her left eye used to live. Sometimes she wears a patch over her glasses, but not today. Today, she pops in one of her hippie-dippy cassette tapes and slurps her coffee at an alarming decibel. She always stares at me until I say something. I say hi. She asks if I’ve considered sticking a pistol down my throat today. I say no. I’m a fluent liar. When the doctor asks if the little orange pills are helping, I say, yes ma’am! I feel so much better! No more insomnia for this girl! No death wish today! Of course, I don’t tell my therapist the doctor prescribed anti-depressants. Not because I care about her feelings, but because I think it’s hilarious she believes a few downward dogs at the gym and a handful of sesame sticks are what’s cured years of clinical depression. The truth? I don’t think there’s a cure for this plague of bent glass. The voices and their tiny orbits, mouths spewing funeral steam. The truth is that my mind is a paper casket. It sits patiently, waiting.

Read it:

Lily Myers

1. In her basement, Anna will coat your eyelashes in so much mascara that you can barely raise your eyelids. No offense, she will say. Boys will think you’re prettier this way. You spend twenty minutes washing it off, watching lone, mascara-caked lashes slide down the sink and into the drain. You do not let your eyes go unpainted again.

"Acceptance is a small, quiet room" writes Cheryl Strayed in her advice column Dear Sugar, published in the collection "Tiny Beautiful Things". 

What’s on your summer reading list? Let us know!