This is a very impulsive poem, just something I wrote while procastinating, lol...
I sit there at my table,
Cramming facts into
The cracks and crevices
Of my already crowded head
My pen freezes
And dries out
Like the water in my throat
I try to write but
Never get past the first word,
not even the first letter in a line.
Doodles run across the page
Like the thick black hair of unruly children
Escaping the discipline of a mothers comb.
As I pulled my collar away,
A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.
The room seems smaller
And more enclosed.
The air appears to suffocate
Like a blanket over my head.
I can’t take this anymore-
The days of studying
Loomed across distant hills
and stretched for years,
Yet only eleven days remain.
Maybe it’s the procrastination-
Not being able to focus for
More than an hour or less.
Unlike my friend
Who sits like stone,
the black marble of her hair flows down
A statue-like silhouette,
Brows furrowed
And met
In silent concentration
she studied through a twelve hour stretch.
As the cover meets the end
All thoughts of studying closed with it.
I sighed and packed away my pens.
Time for a bit of fresh air.
