Like all great thrillers, this story started with a scream.
It was 3 AM. I was on the toilet scrolling through my Medium statistics when a few big numbers jumped out at me. An old article had reached a thousand views in less than two weeks.
I get 20…
Who am I?
A question I have struggled with from the moment I realized I was a single soul floating in an infinite space with billions of beautiful souls behind me, billions alongside me, and billions more before me. (A line inspired by the movie “Soul”)
If you break down…
Oh how, oh why, oh where is what’s mine,
In search of what’s lost, rusted, divine,
I plead, please! Just show me a sign,
Flashing lights, distractions, a dozen, a dime.
Let’s make some music! A small boy chimes,
Like the good old days, devoid of deadlines,
I stare at the keys…
I came. I cooked. I failed.
I cooked again. Then conquered!
I have always had a complicated relationship with fudge. We have gone on many dates in the past, but they always end in delicious disasters. I don’t know if it’s me or her. …
This is not a poem with a message profound,
Just a little rant related to an irritating rat that ran around,
Skittering, scampering, and scrambling on the table it clowned,
Knocked over my mug, leaving the handle shattered, unbound.
Necessity is the mother of invention.
A fast-approaching expiry date is the drunk stepmother of cookie conundrums.
One must never rush baking. It is a delicate balance of preparation, practice, and patience. Unfortunately, someone lacked all of the above during his latest baking session. This resulted…
Bang! The thunder crackles as the midnight sky sang,
Boom! The windows slam screaming out from the room,
Poof! Goes the fuse, smoke rising to the roof,
Boo! Comes the ghosts while I’m blind in the loo.
Bump! My toes hit the door, cursing loudly I jump,
Ow! My scream is…
Numbers don’t lie. But, people do.
If we try hard enough, we can shape numbers to fit our own point of view.
During the past year, we have all been intimately familiar with graphs flashing across our screens. Be it COVID-19, the recent election results, or the massive meme stock…
There is nothing quite like hooking up with an old flame.
You see her from afar in her Sunday best. You recognize the subtle details like the cute dimples that pinch her cheek, how her smile favors the left side a wee bit, and the way her hair cascades down…
The pinpricks that sting your fingertips as you sew,
The desperate cry of the poor little stubbed toe,
The words unsaid and the words that hit home,
When you ask for help and the answer is no.
Smothered in silence, the little things will grow,
Feasting on joy…