Dear Reader, Time is a fickle thing. “Blink — and a year is gone. Blink — and five more follow.” Blink — and you are five years old, sitting in the Early Years Centre, writing The Mouse Goes to Find a Big Piece of Cheese, and illustrating it, too. …

Dear Reader, Where do I even start? This book is memorable. Extraordinarily so. Addie is an immortal girl, destined to live forever (until she decides not to) — but she is also cursed to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. Literally. The novel, while 450 pages, does not…

Dear Reader, It’s mid morning on a midweek day. The sun is slipping in and out of the lake, the water slipping in and out of shadow. The shore is vast and quiet — soon it will be full of fish children relieved to be out of their desk chairs…

Dear Reader, High school starts off with piles of compulsory courses. By the time we get to our final year, we have one single compulsory course left: English. Not only is it the only compulsory course for the grade 12s, but every single university program requires it. But should they? …

Dear Reader, It all started with a talk. As I’m headed into my final year of high school with a solid support system, I find myself reminiscing about my final year of elementary school. That girl seemed happy. She had a big group of friends and a big group of…

Dear Reader, do you ever stop and wonder? because i do. i wonder what it would be like to be somebody else. to be perfect in the eyes of society. to do everything right. i wonder how much of an impact i might have on somebody’s life. how one small…

Dear Reader, last year was hell. it started on thursday, march 7. i ate lunch with the one friend i was still hanging onto by a thread, but we barely spoke. the thread snapped. i ate alone at our table on friday. and on monday, march 18, i started eating…

Dear Reader, I’m not really sure what this poem is. I’d forgotten it even existed until I was going through my journal. i may be a queen but i was a princess first cracking friendships being crushed by crushes romanticizing death learning the peoples’ dance how to be pretty and proper teaching myself sarcasm fearing blades and my brain tripping over my feet breaking cold sweats screaming, crying, panicking

Dear Reader, I don’t hate much. But I h a t e crowds. With a passion. I feel so small, so out of control, so overloaded. Corn replaced with people, cannot find my way Running through the maze, discombobulated heart Overwhelming noise thudding my ears Water nowhere to be found, thirst for solitary, Dying inside, collapsing in on myself Stuck in a storm, a crowd, with no way out. This one’s small. Plain old simple hidden message.