Art3misX

Words - mostly typed, sometimes written and more often scribbled

2 notes

Why Computer Science

I am no believer
in the power of faith,
wishes and goodwill.
Some would say
I’m of an older caliber—
duty, honor and practicality
for the sake of life—
duty, pride and sacrifice.

Hunched beneath my covers
tapping away at words
in the cover of the night.
Abstract designs in the margins
of algorithms and code,
of probability and statistics.

I tuck away my good pens,
hide my leather journals,
sit up and try to pay attention.
But the scribbles leak out
from behind the rational
mind hiding a dreaming heart.

Filed under poetry moments in my life spilled ink abstract

1 note

This Morning

Tis five o clock in the morn. 
To study all night I have sworn.
Indeed this long night I have slaved,
for that godforsaken GPA must be saved.
Yes, many numbers have been crunched,
And many snacks have been munched,
But alas it may be time to admit
That it may in fact be time to quit. 
So I shall now bid thee a sad good night
Before night turns to day with dawn’s light.

Be wary of bad luck in the great or the small,
and a happy Friday the Thirteenth to all.

Filed under rhyme poetry lol spilled ink finals moments in my life

1 note

Mass Hysteria

Does love exist? I’m not being facetious or rhetorical. I mean, how is it that some people are so sure they’re in love (although sometimes they’ll later admit it was lust) and yet some people can’t fathom what it is supposed to feel like? Some people say it’s effortless, like falling, and some say it’s a commitment, an effort you choose to make every day. One could argue that this means love is what we each believe it to be. In which case, love would exist only because we have been told it does and so we bring it into existence by convincing ourselves it exists and trying to live by it. What’s the point?

Filed under prose moments in my life love struggles spilled ink philosophical ponderings

5 notes

There’s a little piece of you
that you’ll never talk about to me,
and I guess I understand
because there is a piece of me
that I’ll never talk about to you.

The difference though, I think,
is that the piece of me I keep
hidden from you is the piece
that you already own.

Filed under poetry spilled ink moments in my life