Freshly squeezed

Half a lemon
lying on the kitchen counter

tired and drained

its emptied veins
vulnerably exposed.

surround the rind,
a pool of bitter juice

but what’s the use?

Its pulp has been taken,
its purpose served,

this was the fate

it deserved.

*Written for a poetry class assignment where we were given a list of objects and a list of emotions and had to describe one of the emotions using one of the objects...

Tonight, we are young

A conversation I had with a freshman the other day went something like this:

Freshman: What year are you?
Me: I’m a senior!
Freshman: Oh, are you thinking of applying here?


And I mean, I don’t blame her. Besides being five foot two and having a tiny face that is usually half obscured by hair, I simply don’t carry myself like a college senior. I’ve got the jaded, look-what-CMU-did-to-me part down pretty well, but the beaming confidence? the bright, knowledgeable eyes? the I’m-a-real-adult posture? I’ve got none of that.