The Never-Ending Storyteller
My ever-charming sister doesn’t just tell stories—
she starts one, and suddenly,
it’s next week.
They last so long,
even Tolkien would raise a white flag, muttering,
‘I’m off to drink ale with the dwarves.’
By the time she stops for air,
you’ll have wrinkles,
a senior discount,
and a newfound obsession with earplugs.
With a laugh I shouldn’t be having,
I shut my laptop like a kid who Googled the unholy.
Time to get lost in the joy of my tiny mischief-maker.
Laughing myself to the grave,
only to be resurrected with,
‘Ate Iya… you love me, right?
So, snacks?’
When Elyza Does Math, Her Classmates Call for Backup
She breezes through math like she came out of the womb
holding an abacus.
If the problem’s complex, her brain operates at 200 IQ.
If it’s easy, she tosses it out like a leftover sandwich.
I tossed her homework like a grenade in a movie scene.
I stepped away from teaching her when I realized—she’s
an eagle,
born to hunt and dominate.
Box her in, and she becomes a bewildered goldfish,
blinking, asking, 'Wait, I’m supposed to think?’
Roast Me Like You Love Me
I let her debate me like we’re in the Supreme Court,
then watched her cry as if I were the villain, orchestrating her downfall.
I let her explain a show I’ll never watch,
and out of nowhere—she burst into song like we weren’t mid-sentence,
and danced as if my grief were just part of the décor.
I let her roast me,
simply because she’s my sister,
and I love her like Sherlock loves Watson,
like SpongeBob loves Krabby Patties.
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