Hi there! My name is Sarah. I’ve been writing on Medium for a few years. In 2018 I quit my job and began freelancing. At the same time I started writing here, because the internet told me it was The Thing To Do. My plan was to create helpful content about writing, marketing and freelancing, but early on I lost the script. Things got… silly.
My Elayna was beautiful. Not the sort of beautiful that gets lots of attention on Instagram, but the kind that sparks and flashes with excitement at news of a new bookstore opening one town over. Sometimes she’d burst into an enthusiastic monologue about the nutritional value of oat milk and for a moment I’d imagine her at the head of an ancient army, mustering the troops with her sword drawn and eyes turned toward the sun.
Elayna’s beauty wasn’t the only reason I loved her. I loved our life together. Mostly it was the way we woke each morning eager…
Why, hello. I didn’t expect to run into anyone here on this poorly lit city street where crimsters are frequently found tied up in neat bundles with sticky notes addressed to the district attorney tacked to their foreheads. Not that I have anything to do with that. Ha ha.
No, I’m just a regular bloke taking a late night walkskie in one of the most dangerous parts of town.
This thing sticking out of my pocket? Oh, it’s not a real miniature gatling gun with 3 settings (tickle > taser > destroy) and a custom extension that allows me to…
A few years ago I got an invitation from my cousin Artie asking me to spend a week at his home. The invitation came as a surprise, since the the two of us hadn’t seen or talked to each other in quite some time.
But I’d always had a friendly feeling for Artie, since the two of us shared an affinity for the strange. As children we’d swapped horror and sci-fi stories, competing to see who could write the most terrifying tale. …
One of the things that happens as you get older is you begin adding steps to your nighttime routine. When I was young I’d plop into bed with my face unwashed and still covered in makeup, my teeth having only made contact with a toothbrush for 20 seconds max. Now I’m older and my bones frequently mistake themselves for musical instruments of the percussive variety and my skin is starting to weigh the pros and cons of sliding down to the floor. I take more care at night.
(At least I can console myself with the fact that I wasted…
When I first heard about cancel culture, I was like, “Oh no! What if something I’ve written gets me canceled!” Then I realized I’m not famous, rich or important, so cancelation would likely have no meaningful impact on my life. They don’t take away your Netflix password when you’re canceled. Or prevent you from crying into a pint of ice cream every night, your tears dripping a salty river of pain into the buttery morass of cookie dough while you ponder the inherent meaninglessness of your life and all the things you expected to accomplish by now.
So, I should…
A stone cottage sat just past the edge of town. It had round windows, a roof coated in moss and was surrounded by the most vivid rose garden imaginable. From March until June the flowers crowded every open space, filling the air with perfume and growing to sizes well beyond that of a normal rose.
The garden was surrounded by an impenetrable, wooden fence and the lock on the gate was secure in order to keep thieves from sneaking in and stealing any of the roses.
In the cottage lived Ines, a woman well past youthfulness, but not yet too…
The world is filled with articles about young humans accomplishing amazing things. These articles mostly serve to make everyone who reads them feel like worthless underachievers who can’t even order coffee without saying something awkward, let alone publish a bestselling novel.
Also, you might not have thought about this, but there are a lot of humans who are older than 30. Whhhaaatttt? That’s so weird, right? The average life expectancy for people living in the United States is somewhere around 77. I’m not sure if the people making these 30 Under 30 lists are aware of that fact.
The ivy creeps through the window to get a closer look at me. Each time it intrudes on my territory I rip the stems apart, scattering the leaves on the stone floor and lighting them on fire, hoping the flames will grow tall and engulf my quiet alcove. But the damp stone never provides the fire any purchase and it lives for only a moment before sputtering out.
I tried to light my hair on fire once, hoping it might embrace destruction, but whatever magical spell mother wound within the fibers still prevents me from harming them. …
a Thursday not long from now
Under the threat of precedented time
Cameras at elbows
Wingtip roller club
Winding/dusting the clock
Here we go
(make it digestible)
We’ll have breakfast with dinosaurs
Pine tree fingernails
Records played backwards
and forwards again
Dreaming of falling / boasting of flying
No one remembers
Nose prints on frosty window panes
Hello! Thank you for reading this poem. It is somewhat short, which can be considered a plus or a minus, depending upon your tastes. So, why am I writing this postscript? Because Medium displays short content very strangely these days and I…