Weekend

She promises herself the world,
Everyday she says she’ll do that which she loves
But let’s the time go by
Until the moonlight says it’s too late,
Try again the next day.
But when the new day comes
She can only barely finish the mundane tasks that are required of her
To keep her life going until the next day
Wash dishes, do laundry (if even), sweep the floor,
Buy food (barely), make lunch (never)
Nothing else ever gets done
And she starts each week the same
Knowing that 3 whole days went by in vain
And wonders why she can’t ever do
That which she says she’s going to do
Stretch
Blog
Play
And Sing
Learn languages, play berimbau
Read the dozens of books waiting to give her new inspiration
And execute the life (she knows) she deserves to have
But instead, when Monday comes, she drags herself sheepishly through the week
Just hoping to make it to Friday
So that she can begin
The same weekend she’s always had
The weekend that will never see her get anything that she loves done.