Dear Schedule,

I’m about sick of you.

I think I have a fever,

I think you’ve given me the flu.

 

I’m tired of the strangling grip

you’ve refused to loosen up

not even just the slightest bit,

not even just a little shove.

 

I’m tired of your constant chant:

Sleep, study, work repeat.

I’m tired of my big girl pants.

Sleep, study, maybe eat.

 

Who gave you the slightest power

To make me wish my days away?

To make me count them by the hour

Until I’m dead and in my grave?

 

Don’t answer that-

I know it was I.

It’s not my fault

I couldn’t help it if I tried.

 

Because without you,

I’m chaotic

But you’re the one who

Is psychotic

 

I think I like me better

Without you

Even if that means

My life falls apart.