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Eleven Seventeen.

Eleven Seventeen.

I’ve been sitting at my desk for hours. My stomach growls. I check the time to see if I can eat lunch yet. It’s 11:17. Of course it is. ****** A few days later: I’m cleaning up the kitchen. My eye catches the clock on the stove. 11:18. I giggle and sigh, relieved. I turn to the microwave, forgetting my appliances are rarely in sync. 11:17. Damn it. ****** Another time: I wake up on my couch, a rerun of Parks and Recreation playing on Netflix. I check my phone to see how long I’ve been asleep. Not long. It’s 11:17. ****** I’m in the car...
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Fade Away.

Fade Away.

Am I even really here?

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All the Cool Kids are Writing Sonnets.

All the Cool Kids are Writing Sonnets.

I never really intended to get myself roped into a sonnet poetry slam, but it happened.

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More Like Dio-drama.

More Like Dio-drama.

Second grade is going to be the death of me.

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Scentbird: A Review.

Scentbird: A Review.

Smelling good – it’s something most of us strive to do.