Thursday, February 19, 2026

Warmth

Entering the house provided little relief from the outside air. Tired from my exercise, I was eager to hop in a steaming, pleasant little shower. My eagerness rose even greater as I gazed at the water spewing from the faucet. Then, ahhhh...the feeling of the hot water on my skin was incredible. I guess when it’s cold, scalding water feels pretty normal. By the time my shower was over, the room was nearly a sauna. Unfortunately, stepping out was painful. As soon as the water stops, it feels like all the cold air suddenly rushes you at once and leaves you feeling more frigid than before. The breeze from the bathroom window nipped at my still wet hair. Maybe it was a sign that my grasp for warmth hadn’t been fully met. The shower was merely like when you desperately put a car’s heater to full blast to spread the warmth faster, to no avail. The real warming is sort of a slow process. 

Self-Inflicted

I was walk walk walk 

walking along with path, when

suddenly I stopped. OW!

Burn baby burn, it burns! 

The hot stuff bled through my thin,

 black, long sleeved shirt that stretches slightly when you pull on it.

I remember my cousin commenting: 

"You're wearing all black!",

and ever since then I treasure it.

But not now. It let some scalding stuff slide through and burn me,

spread throughout and oh, oh, oh, it hurts.

And now it feels like my head is feeling lighter.


But when I looked down 

at the damage,

There was a tiny, star-shaped hole in my chest.

Now I won't get to see the rest.

Friday, February 13, 2026

Beside the Car - A Poem

Quick—

Hide!

They caught us

kissing beside the car.

Your lips taste like heaven,

like pink champagne and strawberry cake—

sweet and fizzy and dangerous.

Your face red with infatuation,

Wearing sweatpants and snug boots in this freezing wind.

My back is pressed against the metal,

heart knocking so loud.


Stop smiling,

you’re making it worse.


But we have to stop,

escape this awkward spotlight.

You slip behind the passenger side,

and I duck toward the driver’s door.

I dart to it,

nearly tripping over the curb,

trying to look casual

like I’ve never kissed anyone.


HONK! HONK! 

Hey, who’s she?

Who?

That.

Oh, just a friend.

You sure?

Yeah, a friendly friend.

Uh-huh.

What brings you?

Going home, obviously.

Okay, bye. 


They roll away.

Silence. 

We stay frozen.

One.

And two.
Then your head pops over the side,

hair falling into your eyes,

Grinning.


Coast clear, sweety.

You can stop hiding

and get back over here.

I want every part of my skin to touch every part of your skin.

Please, honey, throw your sleeved arms around my neck. 

I wasn’t done kissing you!


If another car comes,

Let them look.








(This is a work of fiction, obviously)


Monday, February 9, 2026

Saturday, February 7, 2026

Calculus I + Writing

My hands held the metal of the door, but my eyes looked straight ahead to the indigo sky without stars. The light pollution wreathed the sky, making it impossible for the stars to shine their way through. 

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful campus. The paths were illuminated by the intermittent glow of the street light, surrounded by flourishing grass kissed with the sweet, brisk air of early Spring. I imagined myself sitting on the outskirts of campus indulging in a read before class. Better yet, I thought of a lonely walk around the baseball fields with a hand in my pocket, hearing the crunching of the granular dirt in the infield. A twinge of jealousy and longing spread throughout my mind. How I wished I could've had even a sliver of this environment. Something inside me knew it would have made me less cynical of the entire experience, but I brushed it off when I remembered how little time I had left...

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 EXPLAIN WHY THE MVT WOULD NOT HOLD FOR THE FUNCTION f(x) = x^2/3 ON THE INTERVAL (-1,1) 

Saturday, January 31, 2026

Worth it.

It's the weekend, but I cannot seem to rid the image of my friend reading The Grapes of Wrath during AP Chemistry. The book is underneath the desk attempting to stay hidden while he straight up doesn't pay attention. 

Grapes of Wrath (Penguin Classics): Steinbeck, John: 8601410935160:  Amazon.com: Books