Sitting here, the words wont come,
Forcing them would be futile, nor poetic,
My eyes are heavy with the want for sleep,
I must find a way to be energetic.
I think too much on the approval of others,
Wondering if I toil in vain,
My idol is sometimes Shakespeare,
Yet, these efforts, often are hard to sustain.
Sleep is a thing I want, very much,
A blessing it would be to have it for months on end,
So success is something in my head, that I scream for,
To have and to hold my pillow, to squeeze and grin.
Weeping I will not, for this long and jagged path,
I am plotting it, and laughter, I shall have it last,
That is my hope, my wing and a prayer to God,
Right now I'm bogged down, with working ten jobs.
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