I feel as though all I have are rough days 

and barely there nights 

no rest for the weary hearted 

no gasp of breath for the muddled minded 

an unending cycle of day and night 

I have forgotten what day it is 

what it is that I'm aiming for 

I'm wandering through each day

trying to find my purpose 

or is it my work just to write down words 

and repeat them back 

at the whims of those 

who stack books on my head 

and expect me to balance them

while they weigh down my body 

with all the reasons 

I'm not good enough 

you can do it 

they say 

as they stand behind a glass wall 

so they won't be hurt

when I fall and scatter the remnants

of myself 

are you alright 

they ask 

as they fake concern 

I reply with the cordial 

yes 

because that's what they expect