I hate mornings. My alarm insistent consistent

I always wakeup late.

I look almost dead.

A bird has nested on the crown of my head

I look in the mirror. God! Look at those bags!

I wish I could stay home, but the world awaits

The world beckons me to conquer my fears

I slip on sweats and head onward to school

I think of why I do this day after day after day

Nothing's ever the same

I remember how I’m in love with the thought of the surprise of what’s to come

Who to meet, who to greet, and especially what to eat

My motivation to roll or stumble out of bed

Having the chance rare to most

To wake up and live my life

I do it for those who can’t

I do it because...

The next chapter of the book that is not yet written is waiting to be fulfilled

I have the pen

By greeting every new day, I write my story

Bland, horrific, sad, terrific

It’s all mine

It is me

Influencing other’s books and chapters

Writing a page or two

Being someone

Being me

I hate waking up and greeting the day

However, knowing what awaits me makes me want to shout:

Hip Hip Hooray!