Thought I wrote some really good poetry this week but it turns out that it was just six pages of frowny faces with the lyrics to Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” scribbled in the margins

Honestly, I love writing CNF. How else am I supposed to express my innermost thoughts and also find out that they're all just prosaic word gravy?

Being neurodivergent and doing group writing projects is just asking the same question three times and getting an answer to a question no one is asking and then someone else asking the exact same question and getting an immediate answer over and over again until you die

Two days ago, my young hip gen z friend asked me if I exclusively listened to “millennial music,” and when I asked what millennial music is, he said “I dunno. Fergalicious?” Now every time I try to think any thoughts, Fergalicious just plays on a loop in my brain. I cannot sleep.

It’s time to retire decorative scarecrows. I’m pretty sure the birds aren’t even frightened anymore, but I sure am. Looks like a happy little person but is actually just straw. False advertising. Scarecrow? No. Scare-me. Decorative squashes only, please

I can’t help but wonder about all the things I could do if I simply had the confidence of a man who genuinely believes he is the only person from the entire city of Miami who reads books.

Really sad that a supervillain who wants to take over outer space bought this hellsite, but here is my very inebriated dog after a dental cleaning

As Creepmas Week continues, we've got a piece of spooky-sweet micro fiction from Meg Spring (Meg Spring)! Read it here: unfortunatelylitmag.com/2022/12/21/wou…