Author: Emily Singer

we sat at a cafe down a little alley in the middle of the city and I asked you if you were a good liar you said: “no” and now I know that that was just a really good lie   so lets make a deal you can give me all my secrets back and […]

I used to let people use me like the door mat in front of homes   the ones that say welcome   I used to say sorry like a hello before I’ve even done anything wrong   I always knew I would   you could have held a knife to my throat and I’d probably […]

I never thought dark thoughts were meant to be shared they’ve always stayed hidden occupying space in the corners of my mind hiding from the stream of endless words coming out of my mouth so when I caught myself telling you things I never thought I’d say aloud I wondered why I had been so […]

I always remember my dreams like they’re shattered glass lying in a heaping pile at the edge of my bed swirling with ghosts.   Sometimes I pick one of the fragmented pieces up and fall into eyes so ocean blue, like waves crashing over my head spinning my hair into a salty cyclone, aching for […]

seven years old in the streets of Mexico and I knew what being a girl meant. a man raking dead summer leaves off the street taught me, calling me names like pretty and baby until he saw my Dad’s face screaming she’s seven followed by a series of words I knew I wasn’t allowed to […]