some may say that time is arbitrary

12:01 p.m.
Outside is shimmering,
its rays pushing into the house.

People are on their lunch break, but
I’ve opted to continue writing with a banana
in my right hand—it stares back at me
with wide eyes and opened mouth.  It yearns
to be not alone.

12:06 p.m.
My stomach cries—
I take a bite of the banana, but my stomach cries again,
forcing me to get another peanut butter sandwich.

12:34 p.m.
Debate on whether I should switch projects because my creativity—
the flexibility to dance in the galaxy—
seeps its way to my fingertips.  It wants
to be seen.  To be heard.

12:35 p.m.
Don’t switch projects.
Sink into the couch—sleep resits in my eyes.
It wants to take me with it.

12:40 p.m. to 1:43 p.m.
Sleep has won—
it has lingered throughout my bones
since I woke up,
even though I wished I didn’t.

2:00 p.m.
Construction pounds on my roof.  The roof
wants a warm hug, but the workers walk all over it,
the boots breaking the crevasses.

Heaviness from the nap creeps in—sleep
escaping me, walking into the sunrise
like an old country movie.

Thumps from materials thumps above me.
I hope the roof doesn’t cave in.

6:43 p.m.
The sun’s setting.
Light, orange hues
burst through my opened shutters.

Car lights sparkle like the stars.  The revving of engines 
dance and float to the half moon.  The moon, though, 
wants to hide behind the cherry-picked clouds.

8:49 p.m.
My eyes melt—it
wants to be surrounded
by light grey clouds.

10:03 p.m.
Sleep has overtaken me, my eyes
glued to the roof of my skull.  My mouth
is ajar in the room’s darkness
with the swooshing of the cars
driving past the house.

The dark purple blankets weigh me down,
hoping to perpetually suffocate me.