It’s a Monday afternoon. I am on my way to the library. I just ate a huge lunch: 3 plates of taste good, feel bad food and 2 cups of coffee to offset the lack of sleep and food in my system.
I am reading my agenda. A midterm lurks around the corner, deadlines for papers and tests flash before my eyes, and the pile of laundry in my hamper stretches so high that it topped over this morning, like a castle wall crumbling in defeat. Continue reading
Just as we’re starting to establish a tradition,
phone calls around midnight,
every night except on Saturdays,
my six sevenths. Continue reading
I’m standing on a stage, and I feel a billion pairs of eyes staring intently and expectantly up at me.
I’m standing on a stage, and the whispers that float around in the downtime between acts fade into non-existence as I open my mouth.
I’m standing on a stage, and I’m not holding a guitar or sitting on a piano bench – it’s just me, in front of the microphone – no one knows what to expect.
i want to write poetry just to verbally deliver it
i want to go to some random coffeeshop and listen to other people be really passionate about what they care about