By Rain Scarborough I am dust drifting through fingertips that are not my own, I am the hollow sound of a pebble hitting a tin can that has sat in the sun so long it has become rusty and gritty and dented. I am a heart beating wildly against my cavernous chest, testing the tensile strength of my ribcage. If it shatters I’ll finally be rid of mountains I never asked for. I am a lioness and a lion, a grasshopper and a meal worm, the embodiment of sun and moon; my shadow substitutes my face. I am carpet worn thin by the tumbling of tiny thoughts and toy cars, loud voices and quiet words, the bully next door and the one inside my head. The edges fray — but still I stay -- till my hands feel possessed and hollow, till my mind is numb and I can barely think but to breath in one more gasp. If you want to write for the Crescent Crier, we would love to see you at one of our virtual meetings, which are every Wednesday at 1:30pm! To come to a meeting, fill out this form: https://forms.gle/TrQ5PqFcDqeE2yiB9, and we’ll send you a link ASAP. If you would like to submit a single article - or anything else like creative writing, an opinion, an art piece, photo or photo series, or something else entirely - then you can do that using this form: https://forms.gle/WAHSoWJuVwK3q5du6. If you want to contact us for any reason, you can email
[email protected]. Thanks for reading!
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