i never realized being alive was an accomplishment.
that the slight way you tilt your head,
keeping the bathwater from filling your lungs,
could be an act of heroism.
but i’ve learned to quit holding my breath,
and waiting for the god from the machine,
to rewrite this foregone conclusion.
i’ve made bright lights my home,
swam in oceans of caffeine,
and made my bed into writing desk.
let me tell you kid,
i know how to love the one i’m with.
on my third night without sleep,
i made a list,
of all the things i would trade,
if it meant i could stop being awake.
i’m still finishing it.
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