Flash Fiction. Poetry meant to be read aloud. Learnings.
Everything I write is just love letters.
A preface: This post is a timestamp of who I was as a junior in high school — headstrong and a little stormy. I wrote this as a possible college essay and it very much still reads as one. If you’re reading this, thanks for giving her and this a chance.
I believe in telling the truth as much as the next person, but I think we kid ourselves on how far our propensity for honesty goes.
Read MoreI’ve never really thought that the name, “Gianna”, suited me very much. Not that I don’t respond to it, but I’ve always likened the name to a distant friend and notsomuch as something that encapsulated me.
Read MoreElle No-Middle-Name Sundry was elected Class Monitor of Ms. Morin’s second grade class. A better word for elected would be “bribed-every-kid-in-the-class-with-chocolate”; but that was not, in fact, a word in the Webster Dictionary that sat on her father’s desk. ‘Democracy’ isn’t a word typically found in most seven year olds’ vocabularies anyways, so she figured it didn't really matter.
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