Morning hits like gravity, pinning down my day.
I'm not a morning person, but life has chosen this for me,
So I start the day already scrambling, outmatched by entropy.
Searching for my contact case while trying not to trip,
Phone vibrating on the dresser like it’s rushing me to ship.
Why are mornings always freezing? Who designed this broken scheme?
Why is raising children harder than untangling my mind’s extreme?
Where’s my purse and where my keys, my laptop—sanity worn thin?
Even “soft” clothes feel electric, buzzing needles on my skin.
Why is eight o’clock the standard everyone obeys?
Breakfast is a chicken biscuit gulped between delays.
I’m already running late from existential static,
The dread that whispers daily in a tone too automatic.
I'm always working—always answering—
Students text and I respond,
I am a chatbot of my making,
Running scripts I never spawned.
Why don't I say no to people? Why stay quiet when I know?
Thoughts keep racing, darting, looping in a nonstop undertow.
Every meeting, every moment
Replays inside my mind’s parade—
Did I overshare again,
Or make somebody feel dismayed?
Did I forget something important? My brain flags it then moves past.
My lists keep multiplying—every day still outcasts the last.
A thousand tiny obstacles, a maze I navigate,
And that’s not even counting all the politics I hate.
Leadership’s a chessboard with a rulebook that’s unclear,
While my brain runs ten-mile sprints through every week and year.
Every day’s an obstacle, but still—I see it through,
A perfectionist who’s never quite enough in the collective view.
Storm inside my circuitry, bright static, tangled rays,
Yet still I rise and meet the world
And clear the maze most days.
