I need to get the clothes out of the dryer.
I need to do the dishes.
I need to clean the litter boxes.
I need to straighten up my room.
I need to sleep.
I need to sleep.
I need to sleep.
I need to wake up for work in the morning.
I need to wake up for work.
I need to wake up.
I need to.
I need to.
Each day pushes my boundaries
like a sun shoveling into the horizon so slowly
that you barely notice when it's gotten dark.
Each day is a new frog in a new pot.
Each day is new but always the same,
an infinite assembly line factory of days,
shelling out sunrise after sunrise,
commute after commute,
how-are-you after how-are-you,
dinner after dinner,
and dream after dream.
Every day is a fresh stab wound
that won't close, a different organ opened up
each time.
I need to get the clothes out of the dryer.
I need to wake up.
I need to.
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
