The Downward Spiral

It began, as it always does, with Florida–the nation’s phallus. Around 7:30PM on November 8th, I paced around my mom’s kitchen eating ice cream and praying to whichever God likes girls who stress-eat ice cream while pacing around their mother’s kitchens. When Florida went for Trump, I started sobbing. I know that I tend to […]

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Our Voices Matter

I stopped writing after the election. I didn’t write my morning pages. I only wrote poetry when I had to, which was once every other Friday for work. I didn’t touch my book.  I couldn’t even look at my blog. I mean, no one else was looking at my blog, either, so I didn’t feel […]

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26 is The New 25

I turned 26 last Friday. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, but Whitney! You don’t act a day over 12! Or look a day over however much younger you would like to look or act! Thanks, reader. That makes me feel really good about myself! I DON’T look a day over fetus. I spent my […]

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Night Terrors

The electricity bill at my house growing up must have been quite a lot, because I rarely slept with the lights off. Lights out meant my dolls would come alive and plot my demise with my beanie babies. Lights out meant that the ghost in my bathtub would wander free. Lights out meant that the […]

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The Lowest Form of Whit

Ah, anger. Nice to see you again, Arch Nemesis. Anger is such a waste of space. Instead of the butterflies I normally have flitting about my stomach in fields of rainbow-flavored stomach acid, the past week I’ve had African Killer Bees buzzing around, flying out of my finger tips when I try to type, or […]

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