nectarine

Oh please let me touch Every inch of this day I’m halfway through inking a sketch dreaming of speaking fluent French The future vibrates with all the poems I’ll never write and all the instruments I’ll never play I must break my curiosity into pieces small

For the last couple of days, I've been trying a piece of advice by super nerd and productivity expert Cal Newport to stop wasting hours staring slack-jawed at some stupid algorithm on my damn phone.

I wanted to test the media upload feature, and what better way to do that than with a cute photo of Matilda?

Look at the date of the last blog I wrote on here.

Why plant tomatoes, if they will one day freeze and die?

I asked ChatGPT to write a sonnet about breakfast cereal.

I see what you're saying.

Nearly every morning, I record a "podcast" (aka. long meandering voice note) for a dear friend of mine.

I am not my body.

Content Warning: This is a poem about anxiety and it includes frightening imagery and descriptions of intrusive thoughts.