Busy weekends. Just busy weekends since... maybe a month now?
I stare at the cute, little calendar in our kitchen, attached to the wall. Every little weekend or holiday, I've got to do something. Either it's physiotherapy, dance rehearsals, dance shows.
My mind races, but there are barely thoughts. I sigh heavily to myself. "Physiotherapy at Friday, a dance competition at Saturday and my birthday, sharp on Sunday." My head falls forward, my eyes closing to take a deep breath.
It doesn't sound heavy, stressful or hard to do, but after these other weekends, I'm...exhausted. Adding onto this, I'm not sleeping at some nights, but it's nothing to be 'concerned' about.
Why the fuck does this sound pick me?
YOU ARE READING
livings in my tiny notebook - Kaisy S.
Poetryjust as the title it says. But.. - maybe some writing mistakes because english is not my native language ect. - these are stories/thoughts out of my real life but some sentences are out of my head that thought it would match with the aesthetic more...
