If only a girl could have

a damn friendship

Why must every glance

at the opposite gender

be a crush or a squish

Why must every story told

that even involves their name

signal to those around me

that I am infatuated

Why must every hug

or shared bench

or even mere proximity

mean that there is something

more than platonic

Why must every conversation

be a confession of love

and not just a ...

As my feet splash on the oil-soaked ground of the alleyway, I barely have time to curse my luck before the blare of engines screams in my ears.

Wind lashes at me like a whip, and I’m stumbling back not just from the breeze but from surprise. Just ahead is a speeding hoverbus, blazing down the road at over 40 clicks above the speed limit and, apparently, uncaring of the fact that it almost hit me....

I feel many things

when it comes to romance,

though I haven’t felt it myself

Awe, in the idea of it all—

the shared whispers,

the intimacy and trust,

the emotion that’s conveyed

in a single glance

Disgust, the loathing that arises

at the thought of me in another’s arms,

of the shared whispers,

of the joined hands and lips

Desire, at the same time—

the want, the need

to be loved, ...

It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t bury themselves.

The wind is freezing cold and relentless, whipping lines of red into my cheeks, the frozen ground crunching with every step. I readjust my grip on the shovel, swallowing back tears as I once again try (and fail) to drive it into the dirt. The weight of what I’ve done r...