February 25, 2026 | fucked up modern love essays
Bay Area Girl
Josie Braaten
In the black screen, I watched M undress me slowly.
I wanted to cry.
February 24, 2026 | Poetry Comics
Spectacular Spiritual Game
Uzodinma Okehi
We're given breath, also the mystery of life.
February 23, 2026 | Fiction
In the Wake
Aarti Adv
If I tell you what’s in the bag, will you let me continue to play dumb?
Truest Image
Amy DeBellis
Midway through our relationship, he had told me that whenever we had sex, he needed to think of other girls in order to stay hard. He told me everyone did it
I Like the Way It Hurts
Meredith Aristone
One night Evan and I got so drunk on grape liquor that we started making out in the shower
A Night On Earth With Mr. Hell
Danielle Chelosky
I consider asking Richard if he’ll piss on my book but I’m still too shy.
Britney Ghazal
Samiha Matin
Played a socialite who leaves her abusive husband to run off with an outlaw, themes
Milk Poems from A Working Class Book of Psalms
KG Miles
There areThree parts to any start. A Triptych. Trust me.
I'm Here to Punish You
Sarah Velk
Skaters are like theater kids with better outfits.
I Don’t Put Entourage in the Title so More People Will Read My Poem
Matthew Zhao
I want my gentlemen taken care of, kids nonexistent, my money on the table and it’s black on first spin.
Dirty Pierre
Joe Douglass
An aggressive Doberman knocked Cindy up weeks later.
Chew the Tooth Softly
Maggie Wolff
Affection follows episodes of abuse
I Just Do Things: A conversation with Calvin Westra about Moth Girl
Michael Robert Liska
The secret is getting almost too in the weeds. The secret is Bujalski-maxxing.
Mind Erasers
Kaelen Caggiula
But by then I was dry heaving on some dark back road.
What Is It To Be Here?
Thalia aka BabyGirl
When a lover doesn't know your name
Super Bowl Sunday
Breen Nolan
I could swim inside a seafoam green field.
I could have cigarette breath again.
Writers' Workshop V
Emma Burger
Our teacher is running late, the distractingly beautiful former beauty editor emailed our group. This confirmed my suspicion that she and my teacher had a separate text thread going. She was, after
The Photo Album
David Luntz
He lies there, crumpled and ragged—
a pile of unwashed laundry.
Poems for Anyone Who Was Once a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl
Ashley D. Escobar
A Review of Alexandra Naughton’s Sick of Being Inside Myself
Into the Container
Brian Cohen
"How deep do you want to go?" the facilitator asked as I knelt before a candlelit altar. It was reckless to choose a depth in an ocean I’d never seen, but I aimed for the bottom. "Very deep," I said—a
Charley
Fiona Deane-Grundman
Charley and I met freshman year of college. She was the blonde one, whereas I was not. I was never the blonde one. We went to college on a big hill, warm in the summer, warm in the winter. We both




