#routines
I start-out fresh every morning
but my resolve is reheated
Oh, it's med-school Monday-me.
Thank god my bf understands the fact
that on weekdays my time contracts.
Be careful, she may be grumpy and jumpy.
She’s the administrative flunky
the maker of plans
who strategizes for exams
It’s Tuesday-me
I'm in my zone and likely busy
slumberless and frumpiest
a pithy, dismissive miss-prickly.
who may not have been fed
and barely went to bed
It’s Wednesday me
in over my head, but focused,
patience at its lowest
memory’s key when deep
in theories, diseases and diagnoses
steer clear of me please.
Thursday me
with a brain like ground caffeine
irritation verging on obscene
trying not to be mean but acting like a tween
I need everything 2 B done, I’m under the gun
still acquiring scads of knowledge
but prepping for the evaluations to come
It’s Friday - did I sleep?
It’s evaluation day
dressed to impress
there’s a ballet underway
of peers and professeurs
weighing and clinically assaying
how I cope under a microscope
by 3pm I’m played and frayed
but looking forward to some play.
A few laps in the Shangri-La hotel pool,
and before I know it, I’m smiling and energized,
and with a bit of surface polishing, ready to date!
Why aren’t weekends considered therapy?
Is the air lighter? Are the days brighter?
They may not be but they seem so to me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Formidable Cool by Wolf Alice
Tom's Diner (feat. Suzanne Vega) by DNA
Ramble On by Toni Jevicky
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 12:22 PM UTC
I like it at night,
Pacing through the house,
Just my thoughts and me,
Quiet like a mouse.
Cleaning up the messes,
Putting away the day,
Reflecting on each hour,
Resetting the sun’s play.
I light a candle or two,
Letting shadows softly dance,
The flickering glow reminds me
That darkness still has chance.
I sip water from my cup,
Feeling gratitude’s gentle weight,
Thankful for these silent hours
Before tomorrow awakes.
Sometimes I’ll play music,
Maybe I’ll softly sing,
This quiet time with the Universe,
Planning intentions I hope she’ll bring.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC
I had coffee and tea,
just the way I like.
I played music all day,
some loud, some quiet.
I didn’t panic once-
no shame, no crying.
I washed my face,
took care of my skin,
was gentle with myself.
I chose strawberry cheesecake body oil
over bed-rotting despair,
I deep conditioned and
re-dyed my hair.
And tomorrow I might do less,
or maybe more-
but today I loved me
in every pour.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 8:07 PM UTC
Dark and ordinary mornings start,
with haptic taps from my Apple watch,
and a yawning stretch, way before dawn.
I glance out my window, to check
the weather because that’s the spec
that decides whether, we’re outside
or we’re down to the gym inside.
“Alexa, brew,” I compel my AI
thank God, she understands,
and my Keurig gurgles to life.
I brush the ‘ol tusks and wash my face,
before wiggling into spandex and taking a place
on the bench by the door where our shoes are stored.
When Lisa comes out, stout coffee in hand
she slumps on the bench, with a sleepy pout.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confides with a yawn,
“I barely closed my eyes - then it was dawn!”
Checking my watch, I haven’t the heart
to say ‘dawn’s a half hour after we start.’
Every morning we rise and jog a five K (3.1mi)
we decided, last year, that it’s the best way
to jump-start our brains and start our day.
Poets write about love, pure and chaste,
and less about morning alarms and toothpaste
but in these moments, the ways we start our day,
can influence our lives in interesting ways
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
I used to be excited on Fridays.
I used to have interesting plans.
My weekends were non-stop hectic,
my time was in high demand.
Now I live in repeated patterns,
I’m a servant to boring routines.
A fleshy teenage automaton,
waiting for science to intervene.
Oh, I'm readier than a girl-scout,
I’m more prepared than a marine,
I’ll be out the door like a cartoon coyote,
the second I’m shot with vaccine.
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 7:19 AM UTC
Oh! I am so bored with the same,
The repetition that makes my brain go lame,
I am frustrated of tasks so mundane,
All my routines are just so plain,
The changing of clothes in the morning,
I draw circles on my teeth--I’m brushing,
The mindless drive to work on the same road,
I am just on an automatic mode,
But all of a sudden there is ****
And I drop and sink into a pit,
So dark, I can’t see what’s ahead,
No, because I stop caring what’s ahead,
Like everyone turned off the light,
And there is no more color in sight,
The taste of food turns bland,
Can’t even jive to the tunes of my favorite band.
And then I really slump into auto-mode,
Slugging to work on the same old road,
Brushing my teeth from swirl to swirl,
Still showering when my world is in a whirl.
Still changing my clothes at every sunrise,
And then one day I suddenly realize,
As I slurp the milk and the grains,
There is still a part of me that remains:
My dear routines.
When everything feels dead,
And nothing beautiful seen,
Routines keep me fed,
Routines keep me clean.
When my heart has hit the sack,
My mind saturate with thought,
My routines got my back,
My routines need not be sought.
When there’s no motivation to be,
When I don’t want a thing,
My routines does it all for me,
My routines that cost nothing.
When it takes all my energy just to smile,
And all time is lost in it all,
And the next step feels like a mile,
And moving forward is like a crawl,
I still got my routines,
I still got my routines,
I still got my routines,
I still got my routines,
My routines to take care of me.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 9:54 PM UTC
Wake up!
It’s time to wake up!!
I mean really wake up!!!
It’s not about the hands on the clock
That tick tick tick tick tock
The clock that never stops
Like a pendulum weighted rod
Reducing peripheral awareness
Routines that seems senseless
Coffee, breakfast, traffic relentless
The hands that clock you in
and clock you out
Never do you stop and doubt
The beat to which you march about
The mind checked out
It’s 5 o’clock somewhere
Drown my mundaneness out
Blindfold and gag my inner shout
My robotic need to march to the monotonous beat
For what will i have but despair and defeat
Oh holy one, save me from my inner beast
My natural instincts would have me feast
On love and lust and defenceless defeat
No boundaries, no walls, just vulnerability
The clock keeps tick tick ticking
The mind keeps click click clicking
Until finally I did see
Beyond its purpose to notify me
of daily chores and deadlines to meet...
It was in the hospital, starring at me,
A clock that asked how to be free
For time is not a commodity
It cannot be sold or bought for a fee
It has to be lived despite pain and poverty
For in the struggles there is also glee
No matter how sad our sorrows go deep
The time that we have is worth it to keep
Unchain that inner beast
For love is a necessity
And lust a natural need
Don’t waist your time on complacency
Live each second, minute and hour
Every day, week, and seasonal flower
Growing each year, knowledge is power
Don’t take one moment for granted
For time is no fairytale enchanted
A seed that flowers and dies
Was originally planted
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
Life
The crack of dawn,
Grogginess kicking in,
Struggling to get up for the day,
Everyday just like the rest,
Same routine,
Sleep. Eat. Learn. Study. Sleep.
But one day something changes,
A kink is thrown in the system,
Nothing is the same again,
Going to school different every day,
Trying to adapt to the change,
But it is hard to change,
To this lifestyle that is different,
Not knowing what to do,
Or what to choose,
For life has thrown a curveball,
In my life plan,
And I don’t know what to choose,
Eventually will have to make decisions,
Which I’m not ready to make,
For I’m afraid if I choose,
I will make a wrong choice,
Time is ticking,
And I have to choose soon,
For not being ready is not helpful,
It is coming too fast,
For panicking is what I’m doing
Do I choose sports or school,
Will I make the right choice,
Or suffer my own doom,
These choices will help mold my fate,
And the pressure of the choices is unbearable,
For I can’t decide a choice,
I love all the stuff I do,
But I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye,
To my friends. Sports. School. Or life too.
For life is going by fast,
And I can keep up with it,
I wish I could just stay back and live in the good ol’ days.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 12:59 PM UTC
Good morning new day..
I arise early I pray..
I'm humbled and grateful..
Not too sure as to which tasks to tackle at first.
There's a hint of thirst..
The desire to get accomplished what was left undone yesterday.
Good morning again new day..
I'm reminded its still so early..
Don't know what will feel the worst.
Not getting done all the mind usually has rehearsed.
Or not getting something new done first.
Ok breakfast.. no nothing till lunch..
Maybe do a brunch.
when do I fit a workout in..
Best time about ten..a.m
Be sure to get your vitamins taken.
Anxious to get prepared for today's work.
Allergy flared up..
Showered and all cleaned up.
All kinds of task yelling for my attention..
Some for work, some about business.
And some for my own pleasure.
Twenty four hours is the length of measure.
Yet theres this sense of pressure.
thirst
desire
responsibilities
tasks
rushed
anxious
pressures
pleasures
No wonder I feel tired already..
It's only the beginning..
Yet so much is already awaiting..
Thanks for reading this lil dose of new day waiting..
selinasharday's @H.E.R Poetic Collectionz
s.a.m copy right..2018
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
I say I attract toxic,
Deep down I think
I crave it.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
I can't stand you unless you're between my legs.
It's not love but can we just pretend a little longer?
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
I always run to your bed when I'm lonely,
And fifteen minutes later I'm still lonely but at least I'm
satisfied.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
daytime rhythms
of coming and
going
a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge
out the door
in the car
to the place
there
twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter
hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock
and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock
a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side
then
out the door
in the car
to the place
for something quick
to have for dinner
then
home
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Over the crack in the pavement I walk, four more steps, again.
Carefully scanning every familiar environment for threats; they are all around me.
Devils inside whisper gruesome thoughts that poison my mind and fray my nerves.
Insecurities plague my body, demanding to be acknowledged and obeyed.
Scratches appear on my arms; deep trenches from last night’s terrors.
Maybe I forgot to vacuum… or check for locked doors…
Yelling erupts inside my head, I need to go back to reassure these persistent voices.
Moving towards the wall, I give four taps; this will silence them for now.
Overwhelmed again, this time my mouth starts to count aloud: one, two, three, four; an endless loop.
Needless washing all day- dry, aching hands scrub again and again, then reach for more soap.
Sacrifices are made faithfully, I lose more of my passions and friends as this hellish nightmare continues.
Time flies as I organize… three hours to make the bed and straighten the lines on my uneven comforter.
Every routine is completed to agonizing perfection; all are followed until the next day when I
Repeat.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
I wake up like this;
toothache, slowly, sweating and
over the covers.
Speak lowly of me
if you think I did you wrong.
I change names often.
Though I'm not hiding,
my movement mimics prey and
gives thanks to hunters.
Seasonal regards.
I can't get it off my mind
so I sleep like this.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
Every morning I went
to the coffee shop across the street
from my house,
because I didn’t work.
For every resume I typed out,
I wrote a poem,
in order to keep me from
sending you a text marked with a white flag.
A skull was concealed in the flag,
as a watermark. The sun made
love to a cluster of clouds,
while I rolled a cigarette using strands of your brown hair.
I opened my wallet
and took out a photograph
of me and you from the booth
that one night when you made a fire out of caskets.
Your face had been glowing with warmth,
as if you had drained all the light out of the sun,
and had taken a shower in its yellow glow.
Your eyes were bright with a hopeful future.
Then you grew your hair longer,
and pulled it over your eyes,
like twin pirate eye-patches.
But you’d said you weren’t blind, just indifferent.
Today I wrote another poem on a countertop,
in the coffee shop,
and bandaged the wounds you gave me
when you told me you never cared about me.
One of the baristas wearing a brown apron
and a blue baseball cap, gave me poems
from James Tate. And as I read
“The Lost Pilot” it started to drizzle from the ceiling.
I wasn’t sure if it was rain pouring on my head,
and on my poems, or if it were melted ice-cream,
rich and thick in its texture,
Our first date we stole vanilla ice-cream from a Giant.
You stuffed it in your golden purse,
and ran through the doors, as a fat security guard
chased after you. Then, you hopped
into my blue Volkswagen and we sped off.
I was perfectly fine with being the getaway driver,
you dipped a bent spoon
into the plastic container and scooped out
the ice-cream. You ate it hungrily.
And after I took a bite,
we went to the park and swung on the swings,
coasting up and down in the air,
vanilla stained on the front of our black shirts.
Back at the coffee shop, I played the keyboard
in the bathroom because I was shy,
shy of you finding out,
because you love piano melodies.
And I guessed I wanted to play
for myself for a change. I played
“My Cherri Amour,” and drank gin
from a flask, until every key looked like a playing card.
After I played the song,
I left the coffee shop
,went home, and painted our last conversation,
using words from a newspaper.
“It’s over.”
“You were never right for me.”
“You’re not mature enough for a relationship.”
“I never want to see your face at Peets.”
Peets was the coffee shop we would always go to,
every morning, rain or shine,
rested or exhausted, and
I remember you would read my poems.
You read my poems as if they were
Daphne Loves Derby song-lyrics. Last night
you texted me that my poems
sounded like rushed and convoluted emails.
After that I blocked you on everything,
from social media to your number.
I hoped we would grow weak with joy,
and grey with age.
Words, whether from your lips,
or a text shattered the trust
I gave you, as if it were
my social security code.
In front of the bathroom mirror,
I took a pink eraser and rubbed it
against my foreheard,
to remove the wrinkles.
Each wrinkle represented a time
when you had failed me, or
when I had failed you. Our failures
were weights that I had balanced in my memory.
Kaufman would be pleased
of my progress. I wrote a sculpture
with glass and tears
at my desk, alone in my clean, well-lighted room.
And then I took the sculpture,
and buried it
in my backyard, right next to the grave
of my old and weak self.
I smoked a cigarette using
sad memories as rolling papers.
As the paper burned slowly, I
let the smoke fill my heart.
Because my lungs were tired,
tired from breathing, tired from
living for you. Because you
are not the only thing that matters anymore.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Each day the light slips
into the murky shadows
of the bedroom-morning-depression
Cars swish by
in the rush hour of work
and school
routines, timetables and teabreaks
weekday working
full of purpose.
On the edge, outside the frame
margin people wait
silenced and destination free
unmapped, unseen
locked tight
in a circle
cruising
their perimeter
only hoping for a break.
© M.L.Emmett
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
wonder down the street
eyes stay fixed
whislt I observe each detail
everyone somewhere to be
can't everything slow down
for just one moment
but I get it I do
were in an unadaptable society
told to go along with the norm
told to conform
it doesnt feel right
we drift through life
with hidden ambition
with hidden dreams
stuck in routines
hoping that life will be differen't
to see a improved world
we have to be patient
it will come in time
change is inevitable
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
Shower kisses and wet hair,
It is my beloved who has the stare,
Of someone much much older than I
While she uses a towel that's not yet dry.
Silent at the kitchen sink,
Happy faces as we drink,
And dance to our favorite songs
As the universe twirls along.
I'm
Whispering on her bed
About what to do when we're dead
We pull close to the other
And fall asleep under the covers.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
emergence is an act of rebellion.
our eyelids peaking open like rusty curtains
as we steadily count backwards
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
climbing from our morning covers in one swift movement
like the bold musketeer ready to pierce his opponent.
allowing the cold to wash over our body
towards the to do lists and outdoor morning mist.
legs miraculously sprung to life from our dreams
seconds ago resting in a field of sunlit streams.
allowing forced smiles to emerge in the mirror
if the natural ones forgot to attend our morning ritual.
those cowards.
allowing our own smiles to send butterflies down our spines
if our lovers forgot to play their part.
those ********
our routines steadying us on the road
outside the house
into the yard
outside the fence
into the deli
out of your mind
into the grind
all forming like some rapid fire kiss of motion
where emerging and departing
become inseparable lovers.
and we cherish this sort of alchemy
where our paints emerge as paintings,
where our words turn into poems
that string along
melodies
into song
for
the pulsing of life echoes within
calmly waiting
to emerge
from the gilded cage
we are meant to burst open
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC