all my life I’ve been taught to fear my body — wrap ropes of shame to block the light that emanates from the valley between my breasts, the cavern between ...

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Your writing felt like weaving in the way you described the webs, the cocoon. The reader can feel it wrapping around and around, stifling. There is an innocence and a daring that comes through this piece. Also trepidation, but with hope. The last line stunned me a little, the fear in that line is uncomfortable, but understandable after the descriptive paragraph before it. And yet, you are not so afraid that you avoid the experience. That is where I hear the hope in this piece.


Batshit dream. Prosaic exercise. I'll probably turn this into a couple poems for Tumblr.

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I don't know if I'm fully capable of reviewing this, but I will make an attempt. First, I hate to use the word "flow" because of the tampon/toothpick episode, but this story (while repulsively hilarious - to quote one commentator) flows in such a manner that I couldn't stop reading it as I became more and more disgusted. That's a feat for your writing because I will stop reading something in a heartbeat and I'm not in the greatest of moods at the moment. This piece feels so personal - the horror experienced in personal relationships, yet we keep moving forward out of some sense of having bought our tickets and or having become obliged in some way. The more I think of it, the more my mind blows apart at the thought of it. I should stop thinking of it and write this review.

So first, the robots are watching the young people doing it in a mass orgy. Are they having sex or are they stroking egos or just generally wasting everyone's time? I'm not sure. It seemed like human waste, and yet you were not allowed to engage in it. Was that good fortune? Or did you simply age out? It was gross, but was it also what you wanted? So many questions.

Later, you see someone who deceives you, or maybe she isn't deceiving you. Maybe she is simply who she is - a rapidly decaying human who, compared to robots, will always be a disgusting thing. And yet she gets off and you don't. You stick around for her life cycle, even though you didn't mean to.

In the end you're surrounded by technology, but comparatively chiseling on stone tablets in a child-like situation and asking women for help. Does any of this mean anything? I read a whole hell of a lot of psychological information into this, information upon which I am not licensed to comment. I have a layman's opinion. I do.

After I threw up in my mouth a little, I realized that I thoroughly respect the flow and humor of this story. Imagery. Letters. Paragraphs. Words such as clitoris.


please stay   like oxygen to fire sun to the earth life to the heart   I will be consumed by your absence   stay and make me your home

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I agree with the anonymous reviewer. Your poem, in so few words, states the essence of what it is to want someone who wants to leave. The despair of being rejected by someone with whom you've spent intimate moments is a painful reality for most everyone at some point in their life. This is a piece I think most people can relate to. You've captured it with simple metaphors that portray the magnitude of the potential loss.


Thoughts I seldom speak of

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Lauren! The way you travel in this piece - it's so natural and the contrasts are stark.Your voice is powerful in this piece. There is a rumbling anger and frustration that is tempered with a desire to be rational - a struggle many of us experience.  Sometimes as a reader of a sort of "confessional" piece like this, I try to put myself in the place of the one to whom the piece is directed.  So, the experience for the reader is one of being chastised for our failure and sympathetic for the author in her plight. The notion of eyes that listen (as the all-seeing eye is a part of your essence) is novel to me. I interpret it as the eye taking in words and images that are then translated into thoughts that resound in the mind of the beholder, but also are reinterpreted for what they signify as actions or for what they fail to do or express. I think I've begun to ramble. My apologies. In summary, I enjoyed this piece very much. Personally, I'd like to hear you read this piece out loud. I've heard your voice and it has so much character.Also, kudos to you for using the word "cockamamie". :)


My modern re-imagining of George Herbert's collar

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A twisting rope of sands that burn the flesh: these words are aflame. You've made this flow beautifully and it seems effortless, but I know it mustn't be. So much is going on in this brief poem. You seem to have an excellent ability to speak volumes in short lines. My only criticism is the misuse of "it's" instead of "its". You've done the whole thing: the world as a stage, fishing the waters, the angst, the frustration of the writer trying to birth something that may be bigger than it seems or perhaps not as mature as it thinks it is, the desire to seem something else.  This is truly an excellent work. I hope to see more of your work.


A girl is on her back in a field of wheat. It is the gloaming hour. The sun, low in the sky, pushes its way through the blades of wheat, ...

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"Gloaming" is one of my favorite words. This piece has rich imagery. You've been descriptive without overpowering this short piece. While I'm uncertain if the scent of fire is real or imagined, it doesn't matter because the tear pools in her eye without any place to go. This piece is so appealing and lends itself to something like a series of calm experiential works. The human in nature, existing apart and together with it, having to acknowledge how we abuse the world we happen to live in - it's all very thoughtful and worth contemplating. 


i am not in the mood to exist today. there's no rain screaming outside these windows, and there's not even one sickly grey cloud floating in any sad way. but I ...

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There are many pessimistic poems, depressed meanderings on trails of verses, but this piece stood out to me. The lyricism of it reminded me of Shel Silverstein (that's a big compliment from me because I adore him). You've used some amazing images.  The sun being slapped! I've never heard that before. The image of the stick of emptiness seeking - that was novel.  So many poets today refuse to rhyme, as if it is a cancer of some sort. I'm one who rarely ever rhymes. I think we fear rhyming because it is difficult to do it without the lines sounding forced. For the most part, you have written this with unforced rhymes. In fact, I didn't even realize you were rhyming until I was over half-way through the poem. I was too busy singing the upbeat tune of a sad song. You are playing with your darkness and it gives the reader something to grasp. Well done, in my opinion.


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This view into your life, the life of a writer who has the good fortune and the curse to live as a writer and not be imposed upon by the world of corporations and governments to trudge through life keeping hours and counting minutes until the end of the work day and living for weekends, was fascinating. Truly. The writing process uninterrupted sounds to someone on the other side of the fence like a beautiful dream, but you demonstrate that it is every bit as frustrating as "working for The Man". Being your own employer can be more burdensome in ways. I have personal experience with that. As for structure of the piece, it felt like I was a camera far away and I kept getting closer and closer to you until I was inside your brain. Poetic and confessional, eloquent and pragmatic in some ways. I am not a writer by trade, but I certainly appreciated what you've done with this short piece.


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Enjoyed this very much. There was some odd punctuation, an odd use of question marks, but in a way I think it enhanced the feeling of the story. The contrasts were well established. What began as a seemingly predictable description in list form of the two characters ended up quite differently than I expected. You made them each more complex than the traditional modern man/primitive woman love story.  That was a welcome twist. You used the language of another place very well. What could have seemed false, instead rang true to an outsider.  It felt like you did not overdo it. A nice detailed description of the setting without going on too long. Good dialogue. Easy flow. It left me wanting to hear the rest of the tale, which I mean as a compliment.


People with IBS or stress incontinence always have a plan. This much, I have in common with them. I can sympathize with the woman with the queasy stomach who only ...

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When I first started reading this, I must admit I thought it was going to be an amusing piece on a crude topic. You really fooled me. While you certainly brought humor into it, you also shock the reader with the magnitude of what the speaker is going through - yet somehow without explaining it at all.  The fact of having a life exit strategy without explaining why the speaker feels that way is quite stunning to a pseudo-optimist.  This was very eye-opening for me and I would say that you wrote it with a matter-of-fact approach that does not hide your skill.  Very good. I was left feeling a little shocked, a little sad, but also not feeling like there is no hope. The fact of being prepared in the event that something like suicide is the only option is something I've never considered.  While I do not support the typical morbid fascination with death and suicide that I see in so many young writers, I do think you did this very well.