by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Julie Worsham (This poem contains sexual abuse and self-harm.) Man, I don’t wanna go to this class todayThe teacher’s always talkin’ bout how I need to apply myselfI guess she don’t understand how badly I want to fade awayJust curl up in my bed, cover my head, and forget…
By: Julie Worsham If I’m being honest I wake up each day filled with apprehension Am I the right one to do this job Am I capable of delivering this lesson? If I’m being honest I wonder if a day will ever come when I actually reach youYou staring back…