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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Finding my own personal motivation, wanting to become a stronger, more dedicated writer, and hopes to influence anybody, somebody, myself.

Submitted: August 18, 2018

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Submitted: August 18, 2018

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An unsettling,uneasy, slow to get up.

When my eyes refuse to open, and I have to splash, my hands cupping the cold water, and my face is hit with a cool sensation.

My shallow breathing, quickly becomes a deep breath, and the sun is peaking through the morning horizon.

My quickly dress for the day, no need to impress, but an actor needs a profile.

The day proves to be different, in that it's like every other day, all the same.

My hands become dirty, from all the work, the work, or is it? This feeling I have is that it's routine.

Every week I get paid, every week, I work five days, but the days I'm not working, feels the same.

I take the train, while observing the people around me, were all dressed in our character clothing, were all dressed in our phones.

The occasional bum, the occasional homeless man, the occasional street musician, the occasional man of God, they all have signs, they all need help, they all struggle to get their points across...that they need your hand, your ears, your help... some want to take you with them.

Finally the day is beginning, to end.

The cold water, and soap, I rinse the grease from my body, and wash away the heat from the day.

I take a deep breath, like the morning, the night takes effort.

For a few hours I lay awake dreaming, the dreams form questions, the questions become anxiety, and still I lay, awake dreaming.

Until slowly I breathe, and my breathing becomes slow, and I become tired. I sleep.

It feels like a dream.


© Copyright 2018 John Blaze. All rights reserved.

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