Chelsea Brown

Oct 2, 2024 | medium.com | Chelsea Brown

POETRYand pretending to be braveChelsea Brown·FollowPublished inThe Howling Owl·2 min read·--black and white photo of a woman in shadow. Chelsea Brown 2024. i am thirty-one and filled withideas of what life should be. i pretend to be brave but really it’s a drive to be someoneelse. someone better, yet still me. someone shinier and smarter, someone unafraid to take space. i ache and words staunch thebleeding for a time, revealing another part of me in the process.

Sep 12, 2024 | dailycamera.com | Chelsea Brown |Mia Glover

By Chelsea Brown and Mia GloverColoradans care where our food comes from. Many of us choose to support community-based businesses, growers and food providers, boosting local economies and avoiding the negative impacts of the global food system, such as high carbon emissions and corporate consolidation. Likewise, Colorado’s politicians have helped protect the rights of our local farmers and ranchers, as vital producers that contribute to Colorado’s economy and feed our state.

Aug 14, 2024 | medium.com | Chelsea Brown

his hatred sliced through her like rocks through cheeseclothuntil she was nothing but bonecarved with every word she choked back and swallowed so as not to be burned. she twisted into the smallest of bugs on thegnarled trunks of barren trees but still he crushed heras though trying to split her veryatoms, as though only an explosionwould provide something he thinksis called happiness.

Jul 24, 2024 | medium.com | Chelsea Brown

MEMOIR My best friend's coffin was gray. A light gray, like a spring morning beginning to clear. I wondered if she'd chosen it herself or if she, like the rest of us, thought she had more time. I'd gotten the call Sunday, two days after her death. "Why didn't they call you sooner? You were her best friend." The same question, over and over, but I had no answer. Just the same question. Why hadn't her family called me sooner? More importantly, why hadn't she? I told myself not to take it personally.

Jan 18, 2024 | medium.com | Chelsea Brown

The wind in the trees whispers, a lover’s breath into the seashell of an ear. Someone is coming. Someone new. someone we’ve never seen before. The woman in the cottage next to mine peeks outside at the same time that I do. Blue tattoos cover every inch of skin up to her neck. She keeps that old piece of cut tape fastened tight over her lips. It frays at the edges. Down the road, a man approaches. His bald pate shines in the morning light. In fact, his whole body shines.