I'm not sure what exhaustion plagues me more; fatigue from depression/stress/anxiety/workload/socialization/emotional upheaval or fatigue from explaining why a woman with a liberal arts degree is important in a man's world.

I sit down in tweak town
To jot down a new noun,
A nice verb, a poetic sound,
But all that comes out
Is blah blahs, and doubt.
There’s not enough coffee,
To help satisfy me,
As long as I compare myself,
To everybody else.

So here in caffeine city,
The poetry is witty.
Every verse excites me.
Ever line invites me,
To be better.
Speed is my muse,
As long as I let her.

A nicotine lozenge,
Four milligram a piece,
Helps me stay awake,
Until, I am allowed to sleep;
Helps me to stay alert,
Helps me write this verse,
But in the end
The zzzz will hit me worse.
I guess, I should have just gone to bed
Instead.

Physical exertion, that exhaustive feeling, pushing this broken body to its limits.

This is true freedom, for a moment all of the clutter unifies to defy annihilation

The whirlwinds of thought, ignite into a ferocious storm of gestalt intellect, racing to the end

Alas, the only goal on this horizon is a graveyard of   discarded memories, each step further until, all is forgotten

I am weary but I cannot cease my toil
I have wasted enough time on frivolous pursuits
Yet they are my only respite from the world placed upon my shoulders
The dark softness of the night sky beckons me away from my work and wakefulness
But I cannot cease!
I cannot rest, no matter the personal cost! For the consequence of my failing shall be a much higher toll!
My future in turmoil
My family flummoxed
The joy of my life leeched away by ghoulish specters I cannot fight off, only bow before
And I want it all to end--yet I wish to live my dreams and fulfill my hopes!
Woe be to the laborer who serves the demands of those they love!
No rest seems unselfish, no indulgence is guiltless, the self is stripped away to become a slave of the labors of love!
O sleepless rest! O restless sleep!
How I long for the simpler days of childhood!
How I long for the sweet sleep of the innocent, to which I can never return!
Woe be to the weary soul!

it may not look like it, but i am trying very hard.
you think i’m bad because i’m late to class even though
you don’t know why. look at my essays like you know
what grade they’re going to get, when you haven’t even
read them yet. you think because my quiz scores aren’t
perfect that i don’t understand.

but people have different capabilities;
maybe i’m not where i’m supposed to be,
and i need you to stop judging me for that.
all people ever see is how it looks like;
you’re never going to understand if you don’t try.

i haven’t slept right since school started, trying to solve
math problems which don’t seem to make sense. i read
the textbook before i was asked; did every single thing i
was supposed to. it’s crazy. it meant waking up at dawn
after sleeping at two in the morning.

you don’t know how it feels when your best is never
enough, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep
doing that, to keep trying anyway.
you don’t know how often we break.
i have learned to count myself strong, not because i win my
battles, but just because i face them.

we learn to compromise, sacrifice. i don’t have poems
in my head anymore (it’s a mess in there), and i don’t
have the energy to play sports. i don’t see my friends
except in the corridors, all in a rush to get somewhere.

we get no credit, and all the shame. our stories don’t
get told; they’re not the ones where people clap at the
end. we are neglected, felt sorry for, or hated. we are
spectacular at failing to amaze.

we have learned to cheer for ourselves because no one
else will. learned to act like it’s not a problem, that
coffee is your best friend, and you spend nights
studying, just to get lower scores than the rest of them.

tell yourself you’re not tired even when the minute you
start to rest you feel like you’re collapsing. always feel
like crying but you stop yourself; who cares if you’re
exhausted? you still have to finish those papers; you still
have to answer those tests.

what does any of it mean? why am i graded with a C or
a D? are they telling me i will not lead a good life, that i
am doomed already? my story has not started and no, my
fate will not be decided like this. you cannot pass
judgments on my character based on numbers on a paper.

i am more than all these requirements that never end. i
am the work i put into them. so instead of looking down on
me, let us carry ourselves with some dignity. after all, it’s not
a game; it’s not a race. we’re all stuck in the same place. and
the world is tough for everyone, regardless of our “grades.”

My mind runs rampant
As the days pass quickly
While I work endlessly
In the heat of the evening
The world reminds me
daily, that I'm not alone
This life is mirage in my daze
I'm the bee making honey
Beneath the queen of queens
Yet I stumble upon the lives
Of those who serve beyond
All that I have ever known
They work like slaves
Bruised and exhausted
Under the light that reminds us
That there is more than night
There are stars and a moon
Shining the haze of thought
Which beams the essence
Of human flesh on the grill
We are burned and cooked
To nothing more than ash
Yet there is a depth beyond
This strange life we lead
A horizon that awaits our soul
The fresh air that renews
Like the dew that waters grass
We will find our salvation
When we finally make a choice
To relinquish ourselves to the king
The only one who knows torture
And finds sanction in hell
For we are not our own person
Rather the product of a warrior
Who suffered for every thing we are
The sins we find to define us
Are nothing more than the mirage
We painted in our hearts before
So I tell you me friends and foes
Don't dream any longer than you have
Live each day as your last
And serve not the honey to the comb
But the fruit of the tree in your heart
The apple in the orchard
The sweet berry of the wild
For we are not the slaves of the kitchen
But the servers of our brethren

Sleep*
  Hanging in the eyes

           They struggle to open
But are tightly glued shut
  
              I wonder then,
When the dream began and ended

          And if I was ever awake
                        *At all