East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


Anxiety bubbling under the surface, ready to boil over

Anxiety to anger in seconds

Exploding up and over

Red cheeks, heavy breathing

Can’t catch my breath, constant heaving

Relief is far and farther still

Further down I tumble

My own despair consumes me

The thunder that is my thoughts rumbles, grumbles

Sleep eludes me

Thoughts consume me

Sleep comes but comes too late


My hands smell like coffee

Someone dies today

All I can think about is;

I spilled my coffee,

Those two girls laughed at me.

Someone fucking killed people today.

All I can think about is that damn coffee.

How privileged I am,

That every time I’ve gone to a concert

I got to leave alive.

​Katelyn Moore


Your skin is soft, but not

It’s rough, there is hair

I hate when people call skin smooth.

It is not smooth, it is rough.

There are pores & wrinkles

You are human, your skin reflects it.

Perfect imperfections make you up.

Your skin is not smooth.

You are not smooth.

I am not smooth.

But I touch you

And you sand my rough edges

If only for a second.