middle of the week.
a little further than Monday, a little closer to Friday.
in between all the school days.

I am so tired
tired in a Wednesday morning
I just want to get back
to bed and sleep til
Friday greets me

hell week.
the week approaching
the dreadful exams
the week where
students are tortured
and suffer
the week with no guarantee
of sleep and relaxation
but only stress.

I'm so fed up
with the things I'm
supposed to do
many things to be
nervous about
stressing about
complaining about
but it seems that Im
running out of care
to do them

I just want to get this
to get over with
Wednesday
please,
carry me to friday

I woke up this morning
I felt like singing

With love and faith
No sorrow, no hate

No pressure, no tear
No stress, no fear

No Why or How
To Him I bow

I must confess
I am so blessed!

You’re trying to find words
with a mouth full of saltwater
and i’m going to bed
with eyes full of sand

foggy dreams
thick with desire,
a compass
that always points north,

I’m going to swim
in a current so strong.

A pivot, A ******, A watershed
Been miserably waiting for dawn in my head
Then the day came
A day my mismatch soul and body met
I fed on your words and voices
Wolf down everything from you and store them up
Taking mental snapshot in the dark
And prepare myself for yet another brutal week
I fed on tasty food and a good mood
Treat myself with something tangible
Glutton is never a sin for me
I fed on fantasies.

Dear Emma Watson -
Shall we make love
The object of
Our spiritual quest
Together?

Surely an altogether
Better option
Than pairing you off
In a commentary box
With one John Motson
Discussing twenty two
Pairs of socks
Chasing a piece of leather?

If spiritual questing
Is not for you
I will make do
With tightly tied pairs of shoes
Existential emus,
Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

Whilst hoping you find
Your Sherlock Holmes,
Miss Watson
I will content myself with
Cataloguing my collection of
Black and white combs.

I also have plots on
Which I need to work -

Wednesday Addams's love of
Moon dried tomatoes

Or Erica Roe
Somewhere in Portugal
Growing sweet potatoes
For sale.

Don't let anyone tell you
There ain't no perks
To being an Omega Male.

I can only write poetry
When I am drunk.

It's 5:27 p.m. on a Wednesday;
The things I do for love.

Trapped, trapped upon ground
No room to cry or escape  
But your waves will help

Today I am superwoman,
I go to three jobs, one meeting, two classes
I wear five hats throughout the day.
I got those lovely eyebags as my trophy.

By being superwoman I accomplish anything,
everything that they told me I couldn't do.
I wanted to be in student government...
the popularity vote told me no but I showed them
I could do that too. They said you can't have everything
and here I am sitting with it all.

In this day of superpowers
I fly from class to job to job to job to meeting to home
but I am the most human today.

I laugh in the face of my fears of failure because I have already gotten on the road to success.
I cry because even I am entitled to a good cry every once in a while.
I am cranky because it evens out the crazy bubblyness that I always am.
I radiate happiness although I am drowning in work
I support and lean on those around me causing a tangled connection of love

In every capacity I am me, happy, sad, lethargic, energized, hyper, lost, leading.

In every Wednesday, I remember that my humanity all in itself makes me just as super human as the next girl or guy.