Mandala 1 cropped
by Amanda Carotenuto


by Teddy Chang

(Could not find the font style “Google Docs”, It is in Arial instead) may have a submission

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By Inkjet 2800

“Jane Doe”

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(Why does “first and last name” get “for credit”? I wrote this, I want some “for credit” too.)

(I don’t get it, will “you” edit this or not? How does being able to type yes or no make “you” qualified for his/her job)

For all writing submissions. For all writing submissions.

Each “submission” has received a custom fitted document

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Inspired by Window Seat’s submission guidelines



Monet’s Dream

by Isa Larco

Monet's Dream


by Corinne Greene


Long scraggly fingers once adorned with leaves

(they now lie scattered on the floor)

look sad, and lonely, and naked.


Follow their lines,

down to their drooping ends

where leaves still cling, green, alive and glossy

unaware of their future on the floor.


Why did you make me this way?

Is this what you call caring?

Your worry was so great, you smothered me until I overflowed.

You left me no room to grow.


Sky Lines

by Kylie Marden

The World Is Theirs

by Elizabeth Atherton


The world is theirs

They feel it now

As the city obeys tradition.

Traffic moves.

Lights change.

The movement of people,

Each so insignificant


They feel the sun on their face,

And the weight of gravity pulling



But high,

High above the monotony

Their hands clutch a mug,

A heavy jumper reassures them,

Holds tight in a warm embrace

As they see the sky lighten


They cannot yet understand the rules

Separate the clarity of melody in the starting day

From the contrasting harmony,

The deep thrum of the daily rhythm.


But as the night ends,

They know


The world is theirs for the taking


Like a Bird, I Rise

by Nala Wu

"Like a Bird, I Rise"


by Jeremy Doiron


You’ll never know,

And nor will I,

If ever we could have been


Than just friends.

But just friends we’ll stay,

And good friends we’ll be;

Because I could never ask.


So we laugh and we joke,

We smile and we tease,

I look forward to seeing you

Every day.


Never will I call you mine,

Nor you me yours;

Though I will always be.


And I never know quite what to say to you,

Aloof behind your perfect walls.

Always I come to the point of saying, to revealing…


But then time’s up.

The chance over and

Done. And another day I wait,

Only to await the next,




by Anthea Bell

Luminance by Anthea Bell

Love Like Magic

by Dana Dykiel

We are not children anymore. We are the monsters that scare them.

Voices raising to a fever pitch, slamming the table with our open fists. Our backs against the wall, voices sliding like knives, hissing with false sympathy. Our faces green with rot and jealousy, slimy with veiled intentions and selfishness.

It would be easy to confuse me with a cynic. There’s comfort in the definition, in the false wisdom it brings; pseudo-philosophy is laughable to the outside world, but to those who follow it as a doctrine, it means more than life itself.

After all, our parents never lied to us when we were children. About goodness, about faith, about the purity of the human soul. Those things are all true. Love is magic, and we are loved.

And yet I can’t see it. I know it exists. It has to. Yet I am not innocent enough; I am not good enough; I am not ignorant enough. I can only see the smokescreens and mirrors and cards up sleeves.

“I love you”, he says, and his smile is sharp as spades. Pricked through with the pin of love; small marks that allow him to cheat, to win the game.

He wants me because I complete him. Because we complete each other. He is loud, I am quiet; he is brash, I am delicate; he is good, and I am Satan.

Together, we create perfect symmetry.

I am too weak to resist. Powerless. I know how these things work.

The bent edges, the broken matches, the threads so translucent they seep into light.

I say I love him too.