Squishy Oatmeal

Okay so this is not the kind of poem that ryhmms or anything, but its the kind that I write so..yup

The morning comes creeping in
with deceiving light and shrouded sun.
My blankets hold me tight against the mattress
But I fight
and land on my feet
Dazed;
hair reaching towards the sky.

Stumbling;
I am a Frankenstein-ish creation
The clock is disapproving
Walking out into the kitchen
I see that my t-shirt extends
past my shorts.
It looks like I have no pants.
I laugh;
my poor roommates.

My oatmeal refuses to cook,
burning its bottom on the pot.
But I flop,
reclined in the recliner
and
eat the unburnt oatmeal.
Honey sweetened, it melts down my throat.

Tip-a-tee-tap of the keyboard
Silence:
broken by an occasional singsong of my phone.
Homework gnaws religiously at the back of my mind.
My running shoes are poised in my closet.
Yet,
I sit here,
adhered to plushy fabric
Eating squishy oatmeal
I wonder...
How much time am I wasting?


I laugh again.