One child approaches me asking to decode the infinite. He asks of the convergence and divergence and of the beauty and intricacy in series, sequences, integrals, and more. I share what I know, for I alone am too small. The businessman seeks guidance in optimization. He asks of the stochastic processes, minimizing costs, and of the evolving global tax policy in the context of their endeavor. I cannot design the nanotechnology or the social network or the cure they offer. I can
After performing Prokofiev, I sing with Stevie Wonder, And symphonies cause me more tears than any sappy movie will. My stomach rumbles for roasted red peppers as much as some fried fatty food, And aches after ice cream, but how could I refuse? Dry humor is preferred over a saturated laugh track, And nothing is more satisfying than the crack of my back. My best wishes go to environmentalists, but paper straws always ruin my drink, And my best thoughts occur in the shower, and
I was told pennies are lucky only When their faces smile up At you from the ground. Shiny or dull, they’re small bearers of hope: A cent to top off Your $2.96 sandwich, To toss in a well And pin your desires on, Or keep in your pocket And clutch when you’re troubled. I am the penny-flipper, The day-flipper, the frown-flipper. I’ll cross paths with tails, Bend down to meet them, And prepare their pretty faces To take care of you. I don’t mind the unluckiness For a day or two o
Meticulously I etch each letter, Each word, Each sentence, Each name, Each date, Into stone, Into wood, Into plastic. I leave marks on the smallest of places, The most indiscrete places— The places no one looks. I don’t do this just everywhere, I do it where I’ve loved, Where I’ve laughed, Where I’ve cried, Wherever I please. Wherever I feel connected to. That place that I engraved, It will surely outlive me, Yet still It’s mine, a piece of me. Every groove, curve, scratch,
I’m always being watched. At least, now I am. I used to be hidden; no one would bat an eye at me. I liked it. But now I’m surrounded by all these eyes staring at me. They can’t move of course- they’re all fake. Considering it’s the environment I’m in everyday, and what I do for a living, these fake stiff creatures glaring from their displays don’t bother me anymore. The front door creaks open, followed by the clinging of keys and heavy footsteps. I wheel my chair through the
Maybe Of Mice and Men. Maybe Gatsby. I don’t even remember— The assignment was never the point. I was always so bubbly in the class knowing every single answer, yet never raising my hand a single time. I was always so happy to sit in class and read at 7:30 in the morning while the people around me absolutely dreaded it. How could someone could dread something so dear to me. I never spoke to a single soul in the class but I was never mean That is just not who I am, I prefer to
-After Emily Dickinson ¨Hope¨ is the wing of a butterfly— That comes out of the garden And flies from flower to flower— And gives the backyard life. As Fragile as a bubble— As colorful as a Lilac-Breasted Roller— When the sun rises Its beauty—Shines.
Back in the day, some may have jokingly called me narcissistic or vain, such disgusting words. Regardless, I didn’t care—I was beautiful. And I was happy, for ultimately they were just jokes among friends. But then one day, on this very hill in which I had bloomed, they arrived. First, I heard them, the marching of soldiers, which boomed louder than the thunder of that night’s storm. From the north, the kingdom’s army. From the south, the rebels. Any more details are unknown
you taunt me. you flaunt your mind and your vanity. i am left defenseless and at your will. you could jump me, attack me with blades or some other weapon. tell me to put my hands up and take me for all i had, my money, my diamond necklace, whatever you want. what would i have done? got up off my knees and revealed my own weapon? i suppose so, i could have got up and walked away.
There was this movie she liked. It had a long title. Never got around to watching it myself, but she’d reference it sometimes. I’d laugh like I understood what she was talking about. I have to stop doing that. But she called me late one night, begging me to take her out to the lake. “It’ll be just like the movie, Alex, come on, have some fun.” I didn’t want to disappoint, so I loaded up my car in the frigid February air and made sure to bring as many blankets that I could fit