Musings of a Part-Time Platypus

Once again, a day of contemplation has fallen upon me. So here y'all go, for anyone that is interested. I call it "This Universe, This Mind."  xoxo Sam This Universe, This Mind I am afraid to reach for the stars because I cannot hold them. Afraid to brush the unknown with my fingertips; For I must pull back too soon and hide the blisters Of these dreams that scald. I do not dare to smile at a moon that will never smile back Afraid to wish upon it, to dream of what lies on the dark side; To see the dents and scars masked in creamy white Of a goddess that runs forever from the sun. I am afraid to gaze into the vast expanse of the universe Afraid to lose myself in this chaos that never ends, Where minds turn to madness trying desperately to  Uncover mysteries locked within these galaxies. But it pains me most to look within, At wobbling towers of hopes held together by a thread At a heart chained down, imperfections concealed in darkness, At this mind spiraling toward a poin...

(Note: This article was started in April, finished in November) April 20, 2020 April's always a bit weird. Especially for us public high schoolers. We're a little over halfway into the semester, and that means a lot of things: preparing for exams, counting down the days until school ends, rainy days, and procrastinating-on-thinking-about-studying-for-finals. Yes, I see you. We're in the same boat.  This April is different. This April, we on a national–and global–shutdown. The United States economy is falling hard. People are falling sick around the world. And it might feel like our little universes–the familiar things: school, friends, family–are falling away.  But enough dramatic, flowery writing.  Every April, NaNoWriMo holds an event called Camp, where participants are encouraged to set personal goals and write throughout the month–just write. It can be any type of writing, and of any genre.  It's been an absolute escape from the turmoil of daily life.  Novem...

I've waited since last Friday for this moment. And I waited all of last week for last Friday. I tried to enjoy the weekend. Friday night was quiet. The TV was on, and I can't quite recall what Netflix was chirping at me. I was nestled in a fuzzy throw, my eyes closed, on the verge of subconscious. But the next morning, it was over. Saturday was the prelude to Sunday–which sang of the impending doom of Monday. Most Saturday mornings, I am awake at six. Creep downstairs. Shut doors gently. Watch the late autumn rain patter onto the streets as I let my eyes wander down the page of a book. Until someone else awakes, and I feel the need to do something  under the watchful eyes of productive members of society. And in that moment, my Saturday is already lost.  I live Sundays in fear of the week. School, homework, not being able to have those moments on the couch, with the television to myself. Waking up early because I have to, not because I want to. Waking to the thought of submis...

 I'm so tired. I have too much on my plate. Again. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it all feels like a chore. I have all these goals and dreams and needs and wants and I don't know how to get there. I want to change the world but I'm also caught in the teenage sinkhole of taking as many classes as possible, piling on the APs, trying to be the best at everything I do. And somewhere along the path, I lost my love for these things.  So if I do anything in these coming days, it is in the hopes that I can reignite the fire that once burned beneath me, gently nudging me up at first, and then pushing me up, up and beyond the clouds and into the atmosphere. I hope that I smell the burning rubber of my wasted efforts and the tears I have cried for fake dreams and chores. I hope that I watch the vibrant colors of my helium balloon pierce the damp, gray clouds. I hope that I slice through the agitation and the pain and the exhaustion, and remind myself what a beautiful sight passi...

Tonight, I'm grateful. I can say with certainty that I've had an incredibly long month. The past seven days have been especially draining. I've written hundreds of lines of code (I counted) in a matter of three days. I've finally come up with a title for a manuscript that is taking way too long to edit. I've listened to thirty nine point five hours of lecture in the past week, and worked over fifteen lab hours.  My days go have lasted from 6 am to 9 pm, Sunday to Friday. I've gotten up in the middle of the night, relentlessly scratching my mosquito-bite ridden skin, only to stay awake for an hour longer, wondering how on Earth I ended up in such a situation. I multitasked, reading exam questions as I unloaded the dishwasher. Watching an informational video while I folded laundry. On Wednesday afternoon, I fell asleep on the concrete in my backyard with my face on a textbook.  Simply put, I went a little crazy.  And let me tell you why. I'm in high school. No...

Hey y'all, I wrote this one last year, but am feeling angsty enough to post it. Here's to the valleys we tumble into before we climb mountains. Promises to a Bitter Child I refuse to believe that I will never see you again. I should forget the words that ring in my ears, Remember that they were lies masked in a vibrant life But still I Hear you calling from the treetops and clouds and the Heavy, wet raindrops that cling to my skin. Feel you gaze at me from roads and crosswalks And juicy apples.  I search for you, a distraught lunatic, though You are beyond the reach of my hand. We scampered down endless roads and let the  Wind carry away our giggles You threw me over a shoulder, spun me around We mocked the Sun and the Moon for not being As happy as us. You slowed at each crosswalk, zipping guiltily into Responsibility to hold my hand protectively. I should forgive you but I remember  You promised laughingly when I asked,  Sure, you would be there for me, forever and...