Toss myself out of bed
Peel myself off the floor
Drag myself out of the house
Push myself to the job I hate
Force myself to face the world
Command myself to not melt into a puddle that oozes through the pores of the couch cushions to become a useless incompetent waste of my own **** self
Demand more of myself
To keep myself myself
Just want to lay here and do nothing
Must. Do. Things!
The pile of books
The array of papers
that ink will pour
on their vacuous
void of emptiness
For the deadline
Yet I'm still here
Sitting on my windowsill
For water to descend
From the firmament
surrounded by dullness
where a mass of clouds
are there to be seen
I know I should
and do the ten thousand things
on my bucket list
But it’s a summer day
and my couch is
Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?
Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.
Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.
There was a little man named Jim, who did nothing all day
He never walked, he never worked, he sat his life away
“Safe from life's true dangers,” thought he
“Safe from risk and strife”
But never once did that man think
He could have a better life
He could have climbed the tallest mountain
He could have pioneered to space
He could have been a deep sea diver
He could have won an Olympic race
He could have learned to fly a helicopter
He could have traveled to any place
All he had to do was try
Was that so hard at all
Yet on his deathbed the man, he sat
Waiting for the call
Wishing that he could have done
Anything at all
This poem is about laziness and how staying "safe" may not always be the best alternative for life. Life is very short and you should live it to the fullest.