She reluctantly pulls herself
from the grasp of early morning’s sweet sleep
and puts two feet on the floor, exposed to the mid-November chill
with no socks or slippers to buffer the cold.
She sits at a stoplight,
left foot taps the floor- an anxiety that drips through her nerves
Always seems to be late,
she sips her Stewart’s coffee
hoping the 16 ounces of caffeine and creme
will remedy her sleepy eyes.
Twenty pairs of blank eyes stare
into the desolate center of the classroom,
they wait for someone else to speak.
Her paper cup empty, but she still waits
for her bittersweet beverage to take hold.
Nibbles on a bagel, smiles at the cute
boy who sells her breakfast in this silly
small cafe. Shes scrawling out a poem
that will never hit the screen
forcing herself to toe the line between
reality and her dreams.
Her day has truly begun,
She leaves the dreamy morning hours
and continues to go to class
without the mystic poetry that flows
through her synapse and out her hand.