Is this what being an adult is?

Staring at objects and them staring back at you
Thinking only that you don't know if you have enough energy left
To put that away, do this, do that

But, somehow, doing it anyway
Because otherwise you know nothing will ever get done

Because it is only you here, by yourself

Is this what being an adult is?
Being too tired to weave feelings into poems
And so listing thoughts out in hollow fashion

Just so you can get to sleep