A short poem written while I was still a teacher. To those still in the most under appreciated profession, I salute you.
Why does sleep feel like sadness?
The touch of the pillow comes late,
Too late, and it’s like I pre-hate
Myself for waking up tired. Why
Is it that when I want to work
To live, I live in a society that hungers
For the will you do both, demands
The success and the money and the
Insta-twit-snap fame which satisfies
No one? With a head rushing,
Dancing around and round,
How is anyone supposed to drift
Off to a dreamland before the sun
Sends its rays over the horizon,
Dragging me out of my non-restful
Not-sleep to a day of exhaustion.
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