We’ve all been assigned creative writing in classes. Most recently, I had to write a “Where I’m From” poem, for one of my classes on war literature. I mean, I love writing poetry, but writing a poem about where I’m from seemed rudimentary & also extremely personal as a first assignment.
We all have to write shit we don’t want to write, but sometimes it works in our favor. Maybe we write a really killer line, or maybe (& most likely), we write like shit because we don’t give a shit.
Either way, it’s worth a share.
By Jennifer Levine
What is love?
A teenager’s angsty ode to young love
Is love the ability to ignore the wishes of your family
Take the risk only to be banished,
Plunging the dagger in your chest cavity.
Is love the snake with blond hair
Who offers you bliss from reality
All wrapped in a cozy needle.
Will love hoist you in the rain, embrace you with a loving kiss
And stay around until the amnesia kicks in,
Until you take your final breath.
Once you have given everything to love
Will love’s talons gorge your eyes
Leaving you blind to the truth that love doesn’t exist.
By Erin Siu
Lucy An didn’t feel like she belonged in her white, Victorian house on 35th Street and Geary Boulevard, San Francisco. She had just arrived from Taiwan to live with her father, a tall, balding man whom she also felt unsure about. The last time she had seen her father was when she was two years old, and Lucy had no recollection of his face. Lucy’s mother came with her, bringing only one suitcase for the both of them. Her mother dragged the brown baggage up the front steps and looked inside the house, trying to locate something—or someone. Her eyes stopped when she spotted Lucy’s grandmother, who was sitting quietly on a chair in the living room, watching them. She wore a chain of pearls around her neck, and her lips were painted the color of cherries. That night, Grandmother An gave Lucy her American name.
In Taiwan, everyone knew Lucy as An Chu Ning. Before Lucy was born, her mother spent months trying to think of the perfect name for her daughter. She settled on Chu Ning, a name describing dew drops before they fall from the tip of a leaf.
“I want my grandchild to have a beautiful American name,” Lucy’s grandmother told Lucy’s father and mother during dinner. Her grandmother spoke as though Lucy wasn’t sitting in the same room, listening to them talk about her. Lucy’s father coughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, but made no response to Grandmother An’s comment. Lucy’s mother picked at her food with a fork. Her grandmother continued speaking, “She will succeed in life with an American name.”
By Erin Siu
Anticipation flooded my head
He swam through my veins into my neck and my shoulders
itching towards the center of my flat stomach and down to my arms
in between my thighs, leaving a trail of butterflies down each leg
and finally, He filled me
It’s the middle of the semester. We’re tired of teachers telling us what to do, tired of our roommate’s not filling up the Britta. Sometimes, we just want to do what we want to do. This week’s theme is Free Write, b/c fuck the rules.
Under the Arch Editor,