The chattering hum of the television
drones out my thoughts with the constant chatter
of others living a life.
As if those people know about life.
And the florescent lights glare off my page,
guiding my eyes
to more interesting pictures, showing me
a world that doesn’t include linguistics.

This struggle
parades with zoning eyes
and a sketchy mind.
There is no biology.
Only crazy people searching for something of value.
Homework. Sunshine. Socks.
As if you could really find it.
And what would you do if you did?
Die of boredom. Questing and pretending.
Like a ripping hangover morning,
the night before is doomed to be forgotten.

Homework is listless.
Professors share their life, for what it’s worth.
And I never know what to do with this burden
of expectations.
Precious knowledge. Garbled futures.
Reality is the crusty mac n’ cheese pan,
waiting to be scrubbed.
The mountains of snow blocking escape.
Or the awkward, decaying smell crawls from the vent.
I am alone with myself,
consumed by exhausted air.
And my eyes drift back to the page,
uninviting the cramped typing that thumbs through my brain.
The cheesing grin of a third grader stares back,
demanding empathy and curiosity.
And I begin to read again.