Short Stories, Poems, and Whatever Else

  • My Best Work

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    I am not a masochist But I do write like one Why am I only inspired when i pick my own scabs? Why is it only worth something if it is penned in my own blood? I wish my writing was pastoral The language floral But it is earthy and metallic Like suckling buried pennies…

  • warm milk & other comforting things

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    it is two in the morning and i am drenched in milk: moonlight through linen pale skin white sheets but the milk is warm like someone slowly heated it with the burner on low for a child who cannot sleep what is the difference between a child and a woman in her twenties? a few…

  • anatomy lesson

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    there’s a mean bone in my body it wasn’t always there but now it is mature, completely ossified and it sits right below my sternum burning, splintering, defending.

  • I Feel Bad For You

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    Paint yourself in the primary colors; Put on the outfit and the nose You’re no less of a clown than the others I know you see me and secretly shudder, The things you say I can’t even compose You think of your friends like brothers; They’re the ones laughing harder than most You must hear…

  • sin azúcar

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    a nickname that implies sweetness and maybe some taste it; maybe i have just scorched my tongue. you can be beckoned by the call and if you are sweet, the label you wear reveals artificiality. i tried to acquire a taste and i might have if the night was longer; i woke up with a…

  • r u drubnk?

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    where r u? i’m in the bathroom where r u? i’m so funk haha srunk* drunk wher r u? can u bring me water can u being me i need water where r u? i’m still in the barthroom i might theow up whre u?

  • A Sensory Nightmare

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    your skin sounds like a crack spreading slowly in bulletproof glass and your voice smells like flat ironing wet hair in a room with no vents and your words look like a gun with a pink ribbon tied around the barrel and your heart tastes like rat poison carefully mixed into mascarpone and your hopes…

  • Sample: Analytical Essay

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    Sita Sings the Blues: Painting a Picture of Women Across Cultures and Time Sita Sings the Blues, a 2008 film by Nina Paley, is a fascinating and unique adaptation ofValmiki’s Ramayana. The Ramayana has been adapted repeatedly and in a variety of ways, but Sita Sings the Blues sets itself apart by executing a feminist…

  • The Patron Saint of Adolescence

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    As a twelve-year-old, I felt as ridiculed as a pregnant prom queen at a Catholic high school. I heard nuns whispering behind habits, hurling words like “sin” and “disgrace”. I saw peers in pleated skirts and pressed pants, whose polo shirts fit much better than mine. There were far too many demons for a school…

  • It’s Been Some Time

    —

    by

    Nicole B
    in

    i don’t know exactly how long i don’t want to count days or hours but the mess in my personal space has grown and it’s hard to judge what was there before or which items i can project blame upon but i’ll start with the clean laundry on the floor as i write it’s raining,…