The days with the golden hues — Pink floral dress with snaps, hair in a frizzy ponytail, and slipping socks off my hot feet. Ripples on the lake, fish touch the surface, and sticks float away. A blue heron and a white heron scout the perimeter; they’re the guardians of the lake, flapping their wings and nudging…

The AI bot has a penchant for justice… and would kill traitors — I decided to ask ChatGPT questions from the niche video game Ogre Battle: The March of the Black Queen. It was published in 1993 for the Super Nintendo. …

Dissociation after giving birth — Floating shapes, crystal mountains, dark rolling clouds, and needles popping out of the ground. The noise, like when an oxygen mask is pressed against your face. The noise, like the thick wall of air conditioning while up high in a plane. The noise, like a hole swallowing up trees, rocks…

Cradle of insomnia — Note to readers: The following poem is about not getting ANY sleep after bringing home a baby. I had the weirdest images of my entire life go through my mind during this time of no sleep. After a few weeks, I beat insomnia. One visualization I used to help during…

Navigating a Tough Romantic Dilemma — When it comes to figuring out whether someone likes you or not, it can be tricky. Some people have no problem confessing their feelings. Other people take their time to make these proclamations. …

Traveling from Northwest Arkansas to St. Louis — While coming home from the Thanksgiving vacation, I wrote this poem about the road trip experience. Late November on I-44 in Missouri can be beautiful, depressing, and whimsical. Beautiful, because the seasonal colors are gorgeous. The trees have their last leaves hanging on for dear life. …

An ode to a Midwestern November — One November day, I was in my study — it looks out over a tranquil vista of a lake surrounded by trees and eighties houses. While my mind was brewing with thoughts, I decided to write a poem. I wanted to write about the brief seasonal changes in November just…

Every day we invent new frustrations — Today as I was looking through trends and trying to come up with a savvy article, I felt a colossal block of frustration. Over the past couple of years, Google has made it exceedingly difficult to work as a freelancer. What used to be consistent income for me has dried…

Do we really know our origin? — I crafted the following poem after meditating on how my 6-month-old baby has grown. It’s incredible how much more mobility he has now than just a few weeks ago. He crawls, rolls, tries to stand, and babbles a great deal. For this poem, I combined moments from my experiences with…