Some poems

hours

somehow it feels like there aren't enough hours

in a day for someone used to watching

the clock hands rush passed

when i glance at the time and

instead of numbers flashing a smile

it's my face against a blank screen

i ask myself how long i have been here

when did night become later

and day become shorter

and longer too somehow

and yet i though i just woke up yesterday

and i mark the days with workouts and iced coffees

and i should stop drinking iced coffees

and i just started working out

and what day is it now?

and did i do anything today?

and where did all my time go?

i thought i was rich with it

and maybe i am but i must be

a big spender-

of hard earned time on no use moments

and did I finish that essay?

and when is that project due?

and you said the date was what?

and when did we get here?

and why are the numbers circling my head?

where did the time vultures come from?

reminders of my failures?

where are they going?

and where did the hours go?

and is it my fault they're gone

so

fast

and you said the date was what?

and can you repeat the question please,

professor, i'm sorry, i got distracted?

and why aren't the numbers smiling?

and why is my loading screen taking so long?

and why am i loading

and i thought i just woke up yesterday

my face. the blank screen. numbers.

just. rushing. past.

the project is due already

when's it due? do you know?

would you do this again? if you got to choose?

how do you not miss them? they miss you

who?

i miss the hours rushing passes

but not being missing

there aren't enough hours

when did i get used to the hours rushing past?

I wrote this a few days ago in like, the middle of the night.

Feelings from COVID-19 and quarantine, and just general sadness. Looking back on my life and counting the lost hours.