Alarm blaring
Early morning
Hit the snooze again
Rush to get ready

Filling up a cup
At the water cooler
In a dreary office
Starts to overflow

Pour the coffee
Add the sugar
Add the cream

Sit at the desk
Power the laptop
Open outlook

These little moments
Start to last longer
Is this me trying to escape
This surfeited place?
Lynnia 12h
Contagious Yawning
Starts with one, soon everyone
Yawns contagiously.
I yawned 3 times while typing this.
Madison 16h
You wisper I scream
You silence I ring
You win I loose
I work hard but do you?
Somewhere, a computer buzzes
Mechanical ignorances in spite
Of matriarchal indulgences,
Pretty glasses preceding ugly
Attacks upon the commercial
Disaster, a master of stirring
Deep loathing for all the many
Morning misers, dawning dreads.
Coffee in cavalry, busy bayonets
Surrender to social sabres, and
Afternoon is upon them again.

Sometimes, sound sin married
Found fortitude, a strength no
Sunday sermon could abide
Within the symphonies of the
Damned, saved holy grace sighs
Sweetly at such a thought, but
Untouched dust gathers touched
Tomes quicker than the cries of
Hellish kindles to fresh sinners,
And Dante once again dies to destitute days of afternoon aids.

Somehow, even the harmonies of
Heresy, all ablaze and all drowning,
Put away the playings of patriarchal
Palaces in retrograde rendering to
Something louder than the mean
Mechanics threatening the worker,
a faith demanding force that
Brings Olympus to Athens, Athens
To ash, for there is nothing more
Demanding than the turning
Trebuchet of afternoon antics.
Perhaps I shall make changes to this when I am not so tired, but enjoy this late night writing.
Emily 1d
All smiles and giggles when six
Turns quickly to fussing and fits
Whenever is said,
“Naptime. Go directly to bed.”

Yet sleep achieves a great feat,
For when they are woken
The grumpies are beat.

If only all woes were
as easily solved.
Imagine a workplace
that had evolved

To give people a bed
Whenever they needed
more sleep for their head.

Can you imagine, “Siesta right now.
You may not metaphorically plow.
Until kindness to rule, you allow.”

If only siestas for adults
Would bring forgiveness for insults.

Perhaps sleep would like magic reduce
The times of backstabbing and power abuse,
The number of errors, but creativity loose,
And lead to more income and clients profuse.
This really isn’t that novel—what I’d like to know is who will pay me to take a siesta at work and if I’ll still be able to finish the day’s work?
I am a little worker bee,
Who fumbles while she works,
And bears the weight of her duty,
Until her wings are hurt.

Her house thinks her a stranger,
Her uniforms a smile,
She doesn’t see the danger,
While she walks the extra mile.

Her eyes are purple ivory,
As her night knows little sleep,
Though her stomach may be empty,
She cannot seem to eat.

She knows that she is dying,
But still she carries on,
And her wings will keep on flying,
Long after she is gone.
I keep myself busy,
Try to make music,
With no knowledge on theory of music,
Try to make a game,
With no knowledge on coding,
I am engrossed in these works,
Work for days,
Exhaustion lurks,
I push myself too much on these,
I love these,
But the real reason,
To keep myself in a prison,
To not feel or remember,
Memories locked away,
To hide away in this work,
But then,
My work feels fake,
Everything mentally it takes,
And I end up resenting,
What I make
There is only plenty of time in the moments where impaitence and lonliness live.
Every other moment is wrapped haphazardly in a smattering of mortality, daunting, looming,
inevitable - optimistic.
I wake up, pack my mind so tight I can't get a word in edgewise, button the blouse, pack the suitcase and stare blankly into a dark circuit box full of all the things that the rest of the world crowds their minds with.
Daydreaming of rolling hills, people I haven't met yet but miss dearly, pretending I'll capture life. Feeling the energizing twang of possibility.
There's plenty of time I said to myself ten years ago.
I'll fall in love, I'll feel beautiful, I'll taste success tomorrow. Soon.
I wake up, shovel in the to-do lists of meaingless filler, fill the suitcase, and stare blankly into the hungry circuit box where everyone seeks solace while they make their plans.
Theres plenty of time, I say to myself every day.
Hush now little one, dont be scared.
It's time to be brave now
And put on the smile you've prepared
The smile on your face
Tells me something different than how you feel
Keep quiet and they'll never know the difference between what's fake and real
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