The Realm of the Pachyderm

IcelandAir charges
less than $700 from
DC to Iceland.

I don't really want
to go to Iceland, but I
could once I have work.

Weird, huh? I could go
anywhere. My mind is blown.
The world has opened.

We played Four Square last
night. My right hand is sore, but
my inner kid smiles.

When real life looms up
ahead, telling you to grow up,
sometimes good games help.

I feel a stillness
on Sundays that is absent
all the other days.

It is a lightness,
a rejuvenation of
spirit. Utter calm.

I am grateful for
the hubbub of other days,
but today, I rest.

It is raining on
the roof and I hear myself
thinking. It's quiet.

What is it about
the rain that makes us all so
pensive? I vote "Clouds."

I want to be home
with some curry and a book,
but alas. I'm not.

On a brighter note,
this photograph is helping
a ton. Thanks, parents :]

I'm making curry
tonight over hot jasmine
rice. Life is perfect!

Vices plague us all.
My vice: fried potato snacks.
Curly fries are best.

I never feel great
after partaking of them,
but my love is fierce.

As it happens, my
love is stronger than my guilt.
I'm PotatoFace.

Despite the hindrance
to my plans, snow is lovely.
A cleansing blanket.

Blackness isn't me.
Female is, but blackness isn't.
You exclude me there.

Men and women may
be equal, but not the same.
What is a woman?

Does my whiteness blind
me so much that I can't see?
Am I not woman?

Principal theories
say there's no "-ism" for me.
My voice: undefined.

Am I less valid?
Is my label-lack silent?
What woman am I?

I'm probably a
touch dramatic. After all,
whiteness is giant.

Bad Poetry night
at The Parlor. Second place!
My poem was awful.

So awful, I think
I'll share it with you so you
can see for yourself:

Romantic Rhyming Remains Obfuscated

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
Your heart is made of polyethylene teraphylate
Which, btw, is a plastic used in making soda bottles that, when dumped into bodies of water, causes sex changes in fish.
(Enjoy a torso full of mutant fish babies)

Roses are red,
violets are orange,
if a train left St. Paul at five o’clock going 75 miles an hour due east
and another train left Buffalo at 4:30 going 85 miles an hour due west
and you decided to take a nap right at the intersection where the two proverbial trains from the high school math problem were going to collide,
I wouldn’t even send a carrier pigeon to tell you that you were about to become a pancake.

Roses are red,
violets are only partially green,
and I think you might be a robot.
(You know, because only a man with a heart made of tungsten would let a peach like me get away)

Roses are red,
violets are probably more purple than blue,
You know what happened when you were busy self-absorbing?
Mubarak stepped down and ushered democracy into Egypt. No big.

Roses are red,
Violets are meat-colored.
I made you dinner how many times
And you still ended up acting like Jamaican chicken?

Roses are red,
and sometimes they’re yellow.
If a bad poem is recited in an empty room,
Is it still a bad poem?

I read books a lot.
While this makes a good student,
it gets lonesome too.

This summer, two bees
reproduced on my glasses.
I felt invasive.

Saturday skiing!
Rushing down the mountain felt
like flying sans wings.

Who needs wings when you
have the fierce joy of living
and full consciousness?

My paper was picked
to be read at the English
Symposium. Word.

My resume is
starting to get so ripped, it
should take a pee test.

That was a steroid
joke. I hope you weren't wildly
upset. I don't do drugs.

If I did do drugs,
I wouldn't have such a sweet
resume, would I?

Robin Hood last night.
Master and Commander hoy.
Lots of Mister Crowe.

I am excited
for the Oscars in a month.
We will totes party.

As for other news,
I've been getting back into
NPR—culture!

Knowing about the
world around me links me in.
I exist guilt-light.