Writing

I have a place

A place just for me

A place where everything from the day spills

And when it spills, it…

Pours across the dark wood desk

Flows and takes control of my pencils

Spills onto a paper

It was Thanksgiving 2024, and my mom, my aunt, and I were tasked with one of the most grueling challenges in all of human history. 

“You’re my sisters! You’re supposed to do this for me!” my uncle shrieked. 

I was a terrible person.

The name “learning voyage” is quite deceiving.

We don’t voyage like ancient Hawaiians,

Nor do we learn new skills.

Instead, we go to rock quarries and plant new trees.

Fran Lebowitz is exactly how you would imagine her.

My mom keeps talking about soliloquies. Unfortunately, her and I are at a standstill.