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Monkey Writes May 28
After forgetting to sharpen her saw,
Wanda the Wonderful truncated her act,
Cutting her assistant in half,
Instead of eighths.

The crowd loved it just as much.
Injuries down a quarter.
Anais Vionet May 27
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a ******, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.

Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.

I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.

As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.

We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
it’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by *****
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/27/25:
Interminable: something that seemingly has no end
Anais Vionet May 25
Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”

All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?

Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday.  I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.

So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.

We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.

Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/24/25:
limn = to portray in clear sharp detail
Ellie Hoovs May 25
Your tongue is tied,
cramped from its labor:
lip-service and laments,
twisting prophecy from parking tickets,
doom from unloaded dishwashers.
You monologue like a thundercloud,
over breakfast,
foretelling despair,
in the sogginess of cereal,
and how the day didn't start off
with just the right tone,
the sun glinting through the window
"wrong".
Every spilled cup is symbolic
every sigh a soliloquy.
You speak in psalms of pity
as if your calendar
were made for tragedies,
names written in expo,
scheduled to take turns
making you the victim.
Imagine the audacity
And when the world doesn't end,
exactly on time,
you sulk in darkened corners,
complaining about the shadows,
as if the loneliness your ego creates
isn't an apocalypse of a different kind.
The intent behind every word I utter
is spun into serpentine silk
in your ears,
so you paint me the snake,
accuse me of hissing,
when all I have done
is refused to speak Jabberwocky.
If buses rattle over streets
At least you jounce on comfy seats.  
Imagine a divan
Made from a frying pan
Or griddles cushioned by felt sheets.
Carlo C Gomez May 21
Now that I think about it
I haven't heard
a crossword
from her
all day
Anais Vionet May 21
I’ve moved out (of school),
I’m moving in (to school).
My joke is that I’m having a ‘moving experience.’

Graduating college (3 days ago) was a dream come true
I’m starting a master’s degree in 7 days.
You have to admire the efficiency.

Do I have your permission to bear my soul?
I might have imposter syndrome.
I’m a harsh critic—of everything—but mostly me.

I’m over the romance and pressure of school.
I’m starting the romance and pressure of school.
Don’t worry, this isn’t hapless, sad girl literature.

Or a diary—it’s a portrayal of my inner life.
.
.
A song for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Messy by Lola Young [E]
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/21/25:
Hapless = means "having no luck."
ProfMoonCake May 20
It’s all Choreography, you see,
How I know just what to say,
How I smile at your life,
My enthusiasm about your new boo.
Don’t worry,
Don’t worry,
Don’t worry your perfect little head,
About my loss,
About my body,
About my hair.

It’s all Choreography, you see,
I’ll probably tell you about the one good day,
Some award I won for being nice,
And spew some pseudo-intelligent *******
But I know
Oh, I know
I know all too well you’ll see through me

It’s all Choreography, you see,
I’ve been training since I was five,
It’s meticulously planned
And executed flawlessly as
Warm hugs, laughs, kind eyes and sweet, sweet words.

It’s all Choreography, I know
I’d rather do this,
Because,
I dance alone anyway!
Evans Karugu May 20
I
almost died then,
A newcomer to love's enchanting light,
With a soul untouched, a world yet to be seen,
I plunge headlong, into the ocean's heart,
Caution I flung away, with a defiant stroke,
**** I gargled with water, and spit,
Wisdom's counsel, I stubbornly ignored,
My freedom I traded, for love’s promised land,
In that embrace, bonds quickly took their hold,
Eight years a blink, and all I held was gone,
I lost myself, and all I thought I’d be,
The meanings I’d nurtured, turned into a wail.
The weight I carried, felt heavier than bone,
My first love lost, a wound that cut so deep.

A
beacon of hope, where darkness had remained,
My life’s compass recalibrated and true,
Sixteen years cemented, a friendship built to last,
A friendship etched in hues, that time could not erase,
A masterpiece of moments, and memories,
A spark ignited, in the heart’s inner core,
Two souls entwined, and wanting something more,
And yet, when push came to shove,
And the winds of wrath blew, our fragile bond did break,
Shattered like glass, our trust lay frayed,
The paths diverged, a story foretold,
A love grown cold, that warmed our hearts no more.
Again I teetered on the edge, of life’s abyss,
My second fall out of love, the abyss once more in sight,
A second blow, extinguishing what felt right.

A
gainst the storms fierce howl, I bravely fought,
A miracle of sorts, a twist of fate’s design,
A vibrant verse of friendship, in colours so bright,
Reigns of laughter, echoing through the months,
A bond of trust, forged in time’s own fire,
My Heart, once empty, sang a sweet tune,
Where others faltered, we weathered every storm,
My third love had arrived, a welcome, sweet surprise.
With each shared moment, our hearts grew close and warm,
On days of sunshine, Joy filled every space,
And in the moon’s soft glow, we found love’s warm embrace.
On days of darkness, our words became our swords,
When whispers turned to screams, our fragile peace would shake.
Then silence fell, a chilling, empty space,
A vacant chair, a love I can’t replace,
Gone in the blink of an eye, a whispered name,
Leaving me hollow, consumed by grief’s dark flame.
Betrayal struck, and shadows followed close,
The vows we made, now broken and undone,
On the precipice of void, once more I stood,
My fragile hold on life, almost destroyed.
For this love’s return, my heart will still believe.
Cadmus May 21
🥃

I must’ve been drunk,
under a spell,
or half-asleep
with my soul on mute

because some of the people
I let into my life
were the kind
I wouldn’t let near
if I’d been even
half
conscious.

Not in daylight.
Not with clarity.
Not with my guard up
and my self-respect awake.

like a fool
hosting thieves
in the middle of a dream.

🥃
This piece captures the bewilderment and regret of past emotional decisions, highlighting how vulnerability, distraction, or denial can invite people into our lives who never deserved the invitation. It’s a bitter laugh at our own temporary blindness.
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