May 30's picture

Time Travel

    Some people have dreamt up ways to travel into the past or future. In movies and books we see people using cars, phone booths, and Time-Turners, to name a few. Others are actively looking for a way. They appeal to science and magic, hoping that they will find ways to transport our bodies to events that took place long ago, so that we can witness (and maybe even change) the course of history.

    Some people think that time-travel is impossible. But I know a way—a way that is quick and accessible, ready for me almost anytime and anywhere. By accident I have discovered that the simple power of a song can catapult me into the past. I’ll be scrolling through lists of songs in the search of an old favorite, and suddenly, without warning, I am flung into the projects, the classes, the places and the feelings of the past as if I’d never left that time, that place, that moment…
May 28's picture

Sandwich Milestone

It's interesting, really, that a sandwich sounds appetizing to you, because you've never—never, in all of your 15 years—liked sandwiches before. Sure, cheeseburgers and grilled cheese have always been hits, but... Deli meat with lettuce and cheese between two pieces of bread? Wow. And sauce? Since when have you tolerated sauce? When you were younger (maybe even a week ago), you picked apart your sandwiches and ate each layer one by one. First the meat, then the lettuce, then the tomatoes, saving the cheese (if it was good cheese) for last... and maybe you'd eat a slice of the bread. If it was nice bread, and it wasn't covered in sauce.
Somehow, out of the blue, you've decided that you like sandwiches. Whole. Eaten together, even if you did scrape the sauce off.
It's like you're a new person, inducted into the world of Normal People. Normal People who eat their sandwiches the way they're supposed to be eaten.
May 28's picture


Poetry is a pastime—a side job—a hobby.
Some devote their lives to it, speaking it, thinking it, living it—
but for me, moments of inspiration flash before my eyes
and I have to grab it—quick!—before it leaves, gone forever.
There’s a moment of struggle as I mash the thought into an impossible mixture of words
the punctuation never being quite right, the flow always being just a little off—
But then, maybe three times out of ten, I find the right words, the right punctuation, the right flow,
and I am flooded with a special kind of satisfaction that I have done the vision justice.
Once that inspiration is fulfilled, the persistent itch of possibility quieted
my mind can rest
going on to the next thing in life—that essay, that math problem, that event, activity, practice—
But then the sudden attack of inspiration is flung onto me yet again,
May 28
poem 2 comments challenge: Godin's picture


Art is supposed to be a means of expressing yourself,
yet that is the aspect I hate most about it.
I hated projects in class where I had to pick songs or words or images.
Anything that meant something to me
made the project too revealing, too personal.
I preferred adding my own touches to pre-determined assignments.
I felt that the class would judge me for the choice of a simple word, a simple song, a simple lyric.
When we practiced cursive using paintbrushes, I wrote my sister's name,
and when we had to graffiti one word on cardboard (as other people chose swear words and slang words like "Triggered")
I graffitied my last name.
I did all this to avoid picking an actual word,
one that someone could look deeper and find meaning in.
Looking back on the project, I realize that the rest of the class likely held little meaning to whatever word I chose.
May 28's picture

Problems Are Like a Goldfish

Problems are like a goldfish.
Once, when I was younger, my uncle told me
that a goldfish grows
just as big as its habitat allows it.
A goldfish in a fish tank is small, but
put it into a pond
and now you have a big goldfish, who has grown to take up all the space it can.
(I used to wonder at the size of a goldfish could it survive the ocean.)
Now, whether or not this is true
if life is our pond
then our problems are like a goldfish.
No matter how much we have
how much money, how many friends,
how big our pond is,
our problems expand to occupy the same proportion of space.
A person who has enough feels that their problems are just as pressing
as someone who has little,
though they may worry about different things.
A person with plenty might worry more about friendships, dating, how they look, grades, and curfews,