I wake before the city hums
with stress from the days before.
I lost sound sleep
almost a decade ago.
A brother, an uncle, dependable,
a husband now, a builder too,
fixer of issues thereof.
The world spins fast, but bills spin faster,
and duty never comes cheap.
My hands code dreams that aren’t my own,
designs for brands I do not own.
Deadlines blur with dinner plans,
Slack pings echo from my phone.
Dreams on hold
stack in that space
between burnout and survival.
A brutal loop,
running on fumes in a system
that demands nonstop output.
Some days I’m more task than man,
yet I keep the engines going.
I’m not chasing stars or fame,
just calm, a roof, a little grace,
a fridge that hums,
some gas in the tank,
love waiting in a quiet place.
It’s not that I can’t stop the race.
It’s that I can’t afford to lose my pace.
So I pour myself into each screen,
each line of code, each dotted i.
A thousand tabs between my thoughts.
No time to crash,
just pause and sigh.
But even tired, I still reply,
still show up, still try.
I’m doing what I have to do.
But I hope I don’t lose myself
someday.
