"We want to publish work that strives to tell us something, that strives to change how we see the world. We want work that takes risk to makes a point, work that unsettles the comfortable and comforts the unsettled. We're all about perspective here, and we want you to change ours and the perspectives of our readers."
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
1-2 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
Yes
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

"If you are 25 years old or younger, submit to our magazine (print and online)."
Available in print

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 2000Max pieces: 1Or up to 3 flash fiction pieces
👌

Nonfiction

Max words: 2000Max pieces: 1
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Poetry

Max pieces: 5
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Art

Max pieces: 5

Masthead

We couldn't find this magazine's masthead. We recommend submitting to magazines that have this info available.

Examples

'What if Eurydice Only Loved Living?' by Laura Ma

(excerpt)
i. WINGS black and charred from incense rolling, phantom moths crowd and corner your face. false concentric eyes stamped on your skull stare at ghostly sages descending, hands WITHERED in this house o bone. You hear the huang quan gushing with MEMORIES, quick torrents stripping away the electricity in your soul, PIERCING flesh to take a palmful of achings away from the rib cage: This is what forgetting feels like.
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'take my hand' by Solar Lin

(excerpt)
Take my hand. As the lights go out, as we watch the whole world burn, as everything else fades into oblivion—take my hand. And when the light comes, let it go. Let my hand go. Because I am not meant for this world, my darling. I can only exist on the edge of calamity, on the brink of a catastrophe that shakes the universe to its core. I only ever existed in fiery pits of flame and deep abysses where no light can touch me. It’s all I’ve ever known, and it’s all that I could ever give you. I was never meant for salvation, and I was never meant for the world—much less your world.
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'loverboy hyacinthus' by Ivi Hua

(excerpt)
i. to asphodel he falls. loverboy hyacinthus, skin split temple ruptured, mortal body waylaid across the fields, discus golden-molten melted. soul devoured, stolen away by death, his body sprouts blossoms as last blessings, honey sweet, honeysuckle-adjacent.
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'Summer Evenings, Warm and Sweet' by Kayleigh Galllagher

(excerpt)
The sun is at its most romantic as it dips behind the rows of houses, streaking the sky with cotton candy pinks and deep, silvery violets and molten oranges that melt, both sweet and tangy, on my tongue. The pavement is the color of dreams, but it becomes flat and discolored beneath the odd, sharp shadows— it sticks, just like the humid summer air, to my skin. All around me are the people I know. Their faces are blurry and indistinct against the vibrancy of the sunset, and they are overshadowed by their excitement. Even now, among the crowd, I feel a sense of otherness, of separation. I am not the initiator of this event, nor am I their friend. I am a specter, hovering intangibly somewhere above and behind the rest of the group, watching my own body and feeling no attachment to it. I know, on some level, that I am the same as them; we are in the same grade, we wear similar clothes, they have the same problems I have. And yet, and yet...
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