Lori A. A.

Joined November 2025

117 stories

Bio

Writer, Teacher exploring identity, human behavior, and life between cultures.

Achievements (1)

Runner-Up in Nothing But Voices Challenge

Stories (117)

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Awful One
They said it directly to me. “You are awful.” There was no metaphor. There was no softening. The word stayed with me.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
The Weight of the Sky
Everyone knows Atlas holds up the sky. Children draw him in blue crayon: a straining man beneath a round, obedient globe. Teachers say he was punished for defying the gods. Priests say his endurance is noble. Poets say the sky is heavy with stars and fate.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
Human as Things
I am not a book. I am a person whose life stopped in certain places. There are periods of my life where nothing progressed.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
The Quiet Infrastructure
They built the city on promises steel-veined, glass-skinned, breathing profit through its mirrored lungs. Every morning the trains swallow us whole,
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
The Day Before the Sirens
This morning the sun rose without checking the news. It spilled gold over rooftops, touched the river into brightness, pretended nothing was gathering.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
Now You’re Gone
You are no longer here. There was no dramatic ending. There was no final speech. One day you were part of my routine, and now you are not.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
Till Death Do Us… What Did You Mean?
This poem is about marriage and broken promises. You said, “Till death do us part.” I want to know what you meant. ...
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
A System That Doesn’t Know the Difference Between Guilt and Vulnerability
Joe Arridy did not understand the word execution. He understood trains. He understood ice cream. He understood kindness.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Humans
The Infinite Scroll
We do not walk into the internet anymore. We enter a system. It begins even before our feet touch the floor every morning. A hand reaches across the bedsheets. A thumb moves without instruction.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Humans
I'm Afraid of Not Being Enough
I am afraid of not being enough. That is the central fact of this poem. I am afraid that my work is not good enough. I am afraid that my effort is not impressive enough.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
Cry Me a River
When my father died, the house did not collapse. It continued its small obediences; the refrigerator humming, the clock insisting on seconds,
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets
Oblivion
The woman in this image is old. Her face shows age. There is a younger version of her in the background, holding a child’s hand.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Poets