Author: Cindy

Frozen Candles

I always thought that fire and ice could never so much as exchange a nod without one destroying the other. Polar opposites— one frigid, the other flaming. But I’ve found that sometimes a forest fire can befriend a shard of ice and melt deep enough to soften a frozen mindset, and sometimes a handful of words can freeze and burn, shaking the core of a rickety view. “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” I can feel fingernails dig into cold palms as my hands clench together in shaky uncertainty. The words are a candle, dripping down on...

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Broken Words

I have a voice— I can hear it in between heartbeats and the clicking of my keyboard, whispering, while the seconds bleed from my ticking timepiece. My soul does not know silence. There are words, I can see them— cracked ceramic, waiting to be fixed, waiting to be used while the world passes by. No one sees, but perhaps they will. I willed unfinished rhymes to solve themselves, but the broken words know that I have found them, and the voice grows louder. My staccato heartbeat will not drown it out. Louder and louder it grows; no longer a...

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Paper Cuts

I keep my endings scattered in ink-stained places, in hardcover houses and paper walls— wherever my hands and heart can reach. With the smudge of every conclusion, I can stand a little taller and reach a little further into the little black gardens that string the walls of my white paper houses. Many times it has been said that everything must come to an end. The earth knows this and reminds us of it; but my paper-cut fingers and heart understand this to a greater degree. Nothing in this world lasts forever, and this is perhaps the most bittersweet...

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The Hidden Art of Blackout Poetry

Perhaps you’ve seen images online of a page that looks like a ruthless editor scribbled out all the words with a black marker except a select few. But it’s actually not a heavily edited manuscript or government property that mustn’t be leaked to the public. It’s poetry. Many poets cling to free verse because it’s the style they’re most comfortable with—myself included. The non-existent rules allow us to write with the length, formatting, and content entirely up to our whims. Although free verse isn’t without challenges, we all enjoy an occasional change (even some devoted poets want to try...

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To All the Lost Boys

You might think that the villain I’m going to describe to you is something I have known, seen, and felt personally. You might think that the enemy on my mind is something as sorrowful as sin, grief, or the stony, unsteady roads of writer’s block. But I am going to paint a picture of an entirely different horror, one that I hope to never experience. Have you ever received directions to Neverland? “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.” I say follow the first star you see. It will not take you to Neverland (or teach...

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