my body's tired from doing tasks that I have no passion for
my eyelids are getting heavier by the minute,
like no amount of coffee can ever keep me awake
i am drained;
the kind of exhaustion that neither sleep nor food can ever cure

my teachers say they're preparing us for something bigger
i worry about my sleep debts but i worry more about passing
i just hope that the "bigger thing" is worth more than my health

yet here i am writing this poem that has nothing to do with the things i am required to pass
but at least it has no format,
it has no rules;
& more importantly,  i have no one to please

for my professors this poem is a waste of time
for them, this poem doesn't matter
but it does
it does to *me

The moon there
And the light of the moon.
Caused by what?
The sun of course
Do you ever wonder if the moon finds itself lonely?
Hiding away where no one ever sees it
Only lighted by someone elses brightness
Never radiating its own
When they’re gone
You fade into the shadows
Forgotten until they shine on you again
Never radiating of your own accord
Just reflecting the light of another
But no one stops to think about the moon
Who enjoys staying in the background
She likes to disappear sometimes
Leaving the sun to be the center of attention
But sometimes the sun doesn’t enjoy the spotlight either
Though it is always stuck
So she calls on the moon to help her hide away for a short while
The moon encourages the dear sun
To show the world it’s warmth once again
And the sun listens
For even though she can’t be seen
She shines just as brightly when alone
Everything in nature needs a break
No matter how small or large
It would be ridiculous to request a flower to bloom all year
So why can’t we see that in ourselves?

If I write poetry across my skin
Over and over and over
Will I finally feel as if I have worth?

How are there people
Who only light one candle
To find warmth?
-Honey, in this house I need a bonfire

You thought you could burn me
Char me
Scar me
Oh how funny it was to see you
Trying to ignite
An already burning fire
With a measly match
-stop, you’re just going to hurt yourself