Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Passions, pleasure now feel like a chore,
making my life a bore
and my mind sore.
Tick, tock
Time is valuable
panic rises,
for there is a mental rigid routine to abide by.
But now my soul wears a dress,
which is stress.
Watching shows, self care and reading books
which once upon a time used to be relaxation,
have now become a cross off a to do list.
Losing interest in my mundane life,
I find my breath meaningless,
waking up pointless and have  
life just drag my corpse with time.
There are mountains;
burdening my mind and scraping my heart.
A soul of a robot is what I have,
except that I have a voice that complains
and ears that hear commands,
creating havoc on my mood and mind.
All what I loved, became
‘have to’ and ‘should do’,
a daunting tasks
requiring more effort than it did before.
Life seem drudgery and draining to wake up to.

But It was all about approach and perception.
Digging deeper with why,
I found reasons and meaning behind my life.
It was about relishing in the process,
rather than completing them.
In the errands for others; I searched for joy of my own.
Unleashing creativity in daily mundane activities,
it did not seem robotic no more.
Rediscovering happiness and enthusiasm,
making it interesting by sharing and snapping,
I set lose from the chains of my routine by reinvigorating spontaneity.
For what felt like burden, wasn’t meant to be felt like a burden.
Nylee Apr 2018
We never took more
never took any less
of our share
for our hunger
when everyone stared
it is rightfully ours.
Long before
we were
the beggars,
When we had nothing
no more,
did millions of tiny chores.
We were wronged
no one shared,
we looked at them
gave them pitiful stare,
we wanted the same care
and now that we
climbed the ladder
we are no better
that we are having
our healthy dinner,
there is someone
rising upper
working under the sun
this summer
and maybe
we were wrong
and someone knew it better.
Jessica Jarvis Mar 2018
People throw words around like
Love, kiss, and embrace....
But they aren’t ones to commit
To the dreams they claim to chase.

They run and hide from the monster
Hiding beneath their bed,
And claim their peace is found
In the one resting their pillow head.

The sun rises, a new day begins,
The coffee pours, and work resides,
While the feeling for another one’s touch
Is the first thing that subsides.

We throw around words
like penniless wishes.
“I love you, babe”,
But you can’t do the dishes.

Walk the dog, wash the car,
Go to dinner, visit the store,
Search the shelves for carbohydrate fulfillment,
Finish the bag, and still want more.

Unthankful, unsatisfied,
Disloyal, dishonest.
Forget all the memories,
While they were the fondest

Because if you were to repeat their “mistakes”
You just may find yourself bored.
Things like love, a kiss, or an embrace
Only become a chore.
3/29/18

People are the weirdest sometimes. People break up and make up so quickly.... I don’t understand it, honestly, so I write about it. Meanwhile, others move from one thing to the next and can’t make up their mind. I dunno. This is also kind of a spoken word, I suppose. Enjoy!
Samantha Dec 2017
One, two, three, four,
Look who's here at the door!
Five, six, seven, eight,
I hope it's them, they're pretty late-
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Their coat goes up on the shelves.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
I hope they see a guillotine.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,
Now they're here, I'll hurt them plenty.

No use counting any more,
It's just making my brain quite sore.
I simply had to tell you more
Of they who turned life into war.
Made happy thinking quite a chore,
Right at my face they swore and swore.
Everything nice, hidden in a drawer,
Or scattered everywhere, all over the floor.
May someday beach up upon the shore,
May I fall asleep without a snore.
A person who may or may not exist.
Chris Neilson Aug 2017
Reading a book on fatigue
made me feel very tired
a long distance from wired
and out of my league

Energy ebbing low
having trouble thinking
sugar levels sinking
going against the flow

Set the book down
picked up a pen
counting to ten
wearing a frown

Wrote these few words
sorry it's not more
poetry shouldn't be a chore
I'll just listen to birds
No energy for any meaningful notes
Harmony Nov 2015
Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner

Oh I'd start way back in the south corner
Where the old cabin shed stores the rake
Thinks she of her afternoon's tedious chore
Wishing that she could set the piles on fire

Alas, it's dreaded to have outdoor fire
For fear it would burn down more than you desire
Back where I'm from that would be campfire
Here I'd better bag'em for easy transfer

Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner
Ashley Grey Nov 2015
All that I done for you
So many I cannot count
I hope you'd care for me too
But my wishes, to you didn't amount
The energy I spent, I time I gave
You took, oh so eagerly
But it was your turn, you saved
And hid everything selfishly
Is it wrong to ask the same
Or if not a little more?
Do you think my love's a game?
Why is giving such a chore?

Perhaps I've been blinded to see
All your self-conceitedness
In truth, you never loved me
A thief of love and innocence
undefined Aug 2015
saturday night dates
turn to tv dinners

you forget when the last time
he surprised you with roses was

you no longer wake up
to make him breakfast before work

he no longer calls you
in the middle of the day
unless, of course,
it's to remind you to pick up his laundry

dressing up
is limited to social gatherings
you're in your jammies when he gets home

*** becomes routine
it's no longer passionate, more like a tiresome duty

your **** lingerie is pushed to the back of the closet
& truthfully, he doesn't seem to care much

you'd rather be on the phone
than talking to each other

you don't crave him the way you did
he's no longer interested in the world inside your head

"how was work?" "fine"
"how are you?" "okay"


he tells you he loves you
but it doesn't mean much anymore

honestly speaking, its all become a bore
being with him just means more chores

i guess that's the thing about love
it wears out
*the magic can only last so long
// like colors that fade away in the sunlight, they're nothing special like they used to be //
Sarah Jones Dec 2014
Hanging with friends,
Feeling sinks it.
It creeps then consumes.
Fake a laugh,
Give a smile.
They don’t need you.
They don’t want you.
You’ve seen it before.
Being with you is a chore.
Roisin Sullivan Oct 2014
Cry for me,
And let your tears
Burn a river down your cheeks.

Sing for me,
And let your tongue
Choke all your insolent lies.

Dance for me,
And let your feet
Carry you to my own Hell.

Come on now;
Be my puppet
And move to my directions.

What was that?
You are tired?
How the **** d'you think I feel?

Don't you know
That loving you
Isn't so easy anymore?
E.S.
Next page