Oh crumbs! I cried while baking late at night,
As flour burst forth in a ghostly, powdery flight.
My cookies revolted, leaping off the tray,
Shouting, “We’re undercooked! We’re running away!”
The whisk spun circles just to mock my plight,
The oven beeped twice like it knew it was right.
A teaspoon tap-danced, the spatula fled—
Even the milk sighed, “I’m going to bed.”
But at last I triumphed with a glorious plate,
Though the treats looked… let’s call it abstractly great.
Still I munched proudly, proclaiming through the crumbs,
“I bake like a genius—just… one with numb thumbs.”
Therapy Bits 
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