Weekdays

There’s little alarm

Brought on by

my alarm

Spitting its scream at 6:15.

 

For a moment I was free

From the trouble that is me

Or is it the work that is never truly done?

Nowadays it’s hard to tell.

 

I should prepare for the day

And break the cycle of dismay

Get ready for what needs to be done,

But I did my time

Last night until 1:09

So I deserve ten more minutes of ignorant bliss.

 

But the textbook by my head

And the notebooks on my bed

Remind me of what more I should’ve done

An A on a test

Is worth one less hour of rest

But my brain had decayed to an catatonic state

 

6:45 and I’m already behind

Just with my first action of the day

I break out of bed

Pull a shirt over my head

Try and fail to hide the circles beneath my eyes

 

I need to succeed

So I answer my own pleas

For rest with empty replies

“Work harder, plan more,

Get it done and just ignore

That feeling of needing to stop

 

For a few minutes

 

To breathe

 

And just finally

 

Think of nothing.”

 

Now it’s 7:15

I take my advil with caffeine

Leave the house

And do it all over again.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741