you wake up, somehow, an adult

you wake up, somehow, an adult.

from the moment you open your eyes

you have already begun to fail.

you’ve slept in too late

or did not sleep enough

and now a sacrifice’ll have to be made

to allow your remaining plans to be

feasibly accomplished.

you live on a grid overlaid upon the world.

it is a beautiful day,

full of quiet sunlight

and clusters of forget-me-not

blue between the clouds.

you struggle to get everything done.

maybe you have a list.

maybe you do only one thing

all day, work or go to school.

within each thing, though,

are another million

and they can’t all be attended to.

so at the end of the evening

you draw up a new set of plans

for the following day.

you wish you could begin them now,

but you have already stayed up too late

or are too tired to try.

you eat or you don’t eat.

you brush your teeth, wash your face,

go to your bedroom, and shut the door.

you turn off the light, the night enters

your house like a knife, all your life

means nothing now, its sum is the air

around you, you take two steps,

strip to your shorts, and get into bed

and then you are a child again.