HeyJaredStay Weird Press | Rebecca Watson (ReBe)
Where absurdity, tenderness, and existential spirals peacefully coexist.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 22
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 25, 2026
Latest issues
Where Are We Anyway (opens the original)
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The Writer's Journey<div class="embedded-p
Silence (opens the original)
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I don’t make a noisewhen I cry anymore.I just stare at the walland let the tearsfind their own way down.They know where to go.I don’t.There was a timeI used to explain the hurt.I used words.I raised my voice.I tried to make the painloud enoughfor someone to notice.But eventuallyyou learn something terrible,a scream is still a screamwhen nobody is listening.So nowI keep everything inside.I swallow the wordsuntil they become stones.I swa
The First Note (opens the original)
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Your fingertips trace the edge of my collarbone like a bow drawn across violin strings, and I feel the first note rising— a hum that lives just beneath my ribs, my skin awakening beneath the thin fabric as your touch drifts lower.You breathe against my neck, and I am a house with all its windows flung open, every room filling with light, with th… Read more
The Spark Taking It’s Sweet Time (opens the original)
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I pull you into the dark by instinct, tracing the fault lines you promised yourself you’d keep from me. There is a wicked elegance in how easily I dismantle your gravity, letting you watch your own resolve unravel until falling into my hands is the only motion your body knows how to obey.I leave the taste of midnight and poor judgment on your mouth, a slow, electric current hummed beneath your skin. Every glance I send across the dim room is a quiet dare that leaves the breath trapped behind you
Meat and Memory (opens the original)
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You said you were afraid something might happen, and I wish you hadn’t put those words into the world. I wish I could have snatched them from the air before they burrowed into me, because now my mind has teeth. Sharp ones, and they won’t stop chewing through the soft tissue of every thought I have left.I don’t believe in warnings. I believe in possibilities. That’s worse.Now I see them everywhere—every road splitting into a thousand wrong turns, every stranger’s face a potential threat, every lo
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