I downloaded Duolingo,
thought, “Cool, I’ll learn some French!”
But now that little owl
got me living on the bench.

I opened it for practice,
just fooling around,
but now I know Korean—
about two hundred words down!

I practice small sentences,
I sound kinda neat,
like (saranghae) —
and sometimes (shebal!) in heat.

Chinese is harder,
I’ll admit with a sigh,
but hey, twenty words—
I can still order chai.

I skipped one single lesson,
just ONE—don’t roll your eyes,
next thing I know he’s texting me:
“Practice… or goodbyes.”

I chase K-dramas nightly,
my goal is quite clear:
understand the crying scene
before subs appear!

But the owl is relentless,
he haunts me in my dreams,
taps on my window,
and silently screams.

I drill German phrases
before I even pray,
and sometimes I swear I hear him whisper:
“Now… Italian with me.”

So if one day you see me
laugh, gasp, or freeze,
just know it’s not me losing it—
it’s that green-eyed nightmare
telling me to learn… or else.

I signed up for Duolingo again,
So when I grow old,
And I am weary of this mortal country,
I may take my aching bones,
To old Italy.
Where I will have coffee,
And read paper news,
That way the old game can't bother me.

Am I doing it right?
I took a bath with eight capfuls of eucalyptus bubble soap
Instead of the recommended four.
I ran the water fever hot.
I wonder how long that feeling will last on my skin.
It doesn’t last long.
The next day,
I read a poem about this bath
To my creative writing class.
Call that vulnerability.
Gold star for me and my vulnerability.
I make tea with my vulnerability,
And sometimes I let other people sniff the fumes—
Raspberry-pomegranate-flavored-matcha-green—
But I never make a full ***
Because I guess I don’t want anyone else
to burn their tongues on my scalding vulnerability.


They like my poem, I think.
I don’t really listen to their response,
Am glad when it’s over.
I answer their questions about it without
Really answering their questions.
I don’t think they notice.
As for me,
I absorb their comments like vitamins
And, as such, the excess is filtered out
In the middle of the night when I’m trying to sleep.
When I do sleep, I try badly to stay awake,
When I must sleep, I am kept awake by various physical sensations,
Which I may complain about on Twitter
(Gold star for my vulnerability)
But maybe not, because I’m trying to detox,
And by that I mean I’ll stare
At Duolingo, the Atlantic, YouTube and Netflix,
Instead of Twitter, Instagram, Tik Tok and Snapchat,
And when I talk about it to my friends,
I feel the need to compare myself to an addict
in rehab
to get over heroine.
Because, in my mind, they are the same thing.
Call that empathy. Gold star for me and my empathy.

Am I doing it right yet?
This poem makes me feel good,
When I write something that makes me feel good,
I feel as though I could be talented.
But do I like myself for it?
If I get too cocky I might have to cut my own **** off,
Cut myself down to size.
But it’s no use, my ego haunts me
Like a bad childhood memory.
I didn’t feel guilt for the first time until I was fifteen.
It took that long
To feel sorry for pruning the leaves on my relationships,
until the plants disappeared
And I forgot what species they were.
Even now that I have friends I can admire,
Can I be trusted not to rate myself more highly?
Call that self-confidence.
Goldstar for me and my self-confidence.


When I get home from work,
I take another bath, hotter than before, with wine.
The wine and the heat make me dizzy, which is good
Because I can’t fall asleep unless I’m dizzy.
But later I will not be able to sleep
because this is my third hot bath in a row,
it’s winter, and my skin is so dry that it will itch and burn
As if every fabric I touch were made of fire ants.
But for now
I am comforted.
Call that self-care. Gold star for my self-care.
More of a participation trophy, really.

I wait.
I open my screen, and there I see
a notification—
not from you,
but from Duolingo, urging me to do my Latin lesson today.

I hear a ring.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
not from you,
but from my best friend who needs me to select a dress for her.

Then I see a blink.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
not from you,
but from the group chat I’ve been a member of since 2023.

And I finally tuck my phone away.
Then I hear a ding.
I look at my screen,
and there it is—
a notification,
yet not from you.