Mondays are a drain
they are dementors
they feel like an anvil
they taste like recovery
and exhaustion
like your neck isnt strong enough
and your brain is rebooting
i am constantly troubleshooting at life
looking for a solution
to make getting out of bed easier

its been a tedious day
after five classes
and an extra rehearsal
almost 200 students
full of energy that is hard to
tame.
thinking back
i dont remember it being this hard
things have changed
things are different now
the older teachers say it all the time
i remember it too

for a moment
i stand in the bathroom
just to breath
and stare at my reflection
the man in the mirror
looks foreign to the man inside my
head.

old
fat
bald
my face could never lie.
what happened to the
man i thought i would be?
i guess no one gets to be
happy at work
but i thought i would come
close.

Deep down from the darkest space
The lifeless voice screams in fear
"Someone get me out of here"
When I go near the voice,
That was not someone else
What I saw was my own soul
Screaming there loud.
It's get suffocated by the facades
I have to wear in front of others.
It's exhausted of taking every breath
As the choice made by other's.
It want to breath without the rules.
It want to smile without the limits.

Guilt that all i feel
It's this constant emotion that won't leave
And you reassure me saying it's okay
But it's clearly not
Because if it were okay
I wouldn't be feeling this way
If it were okay
You would be telling me that it's not okay

W.K

have I become mundane?
are my “I love you’s” monotonous?
am I just a hopeless case?
I try to have an optimistic outlook
but as days pass, everything comes up empty
and I don’t know how the hell to do this
I’m making it up as I go and nothing works
and I pretend to know what I’m doing
but in reality I’m flying blinded

I never asked to join the rat race.
But being a cognizant participant of the
perpetual scramble
I've noticed
it seems
we're always neck-and-neck,
nose-and-nose--
it's me!
No, *******--
it's you--you're winning--oh,
wait--it's me again!
You!
Me!
Him!
ME!
you,
him, me, you...
Is this a marathon we're supposed to sprint?
Are  humans even capable of doing that?
Or... hamsters?
I slow down and become a fat ******* lump,
moving slowly, and yet somehow,
there you are beside me still.
There is our row of hamsters wheels,
and here is our imaginary race
to a finish that exists in an industrial dream.
The soul resides in the breath
we can never catch
as we are racing--
You're WINNING,
I'm winning!
You, me, you, him, her, me... again.
And again.
And again.
For efficiency's sake
we race in a row.

I keep hearing that
in order to exist properly
amongst your peers
you need a strong sense of self.
I think that
the stains on my shirt
melancholic playlist in my ears
grumbling tummy
and agitation with self help websites
might be as good as it gets for my early 20's.

and I'm tired of trying to be perfectly healthy all the time.
and I think capacity for constant self awareness is a privilege.