Skip to Content
By Ella Jaya Sran
to the screams.
to the glass-shattering pleas for life
that no one but they can hear.
to the wooden desks that were my sanctuary
By Lauren (Lo) May
twitter feminists will scream
my brown eyes be beautiful
while labeling the grey and green “exotic”
love my “black girl afro” when it's plucked and fluffy
By Jonathan Mendoza
Example: I place my hand in a pool of salt.
Some stays. Some seeps into my skin.
Everything goes exactly where it’s supposed to.
By Ashley M. Jones
Don’t need lawyers
when you split a body in two
on the highway—
By M. Soledad Caballero
He says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and
By Jeanann Verlee
In a humble, godless house
you moved through youth like any girl.
Dolls & other toys, yours,
By Paul Tran
Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
By Danielle Badra
We are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
By John James
In Georgetown, IN, the steel projector reels.
The desert stretches blankly before us, a red
plain constellated with rows of dry mesquite.
By Paulette Beete
Orlando Jones, a black actor, douses himself
in a bucket of bullets. I flinch. Bullet against
brown skin even without the bruised and
busted aftermath is no easy thing to bear.