I didn’t mean to get out of bed today,
but the sun touched my eyelid like a cashier
tapping the counter with a roll of quarters—
and here I am, brushing my teeth like I invented it.
The kettle sings, of course it does,
like everything lately is trying too hard to be poetic.
Even the toast lands golden. Even the Wi-Fi connects.
This is rare! Let’s celebrate!
With exactly one finger of cold brew
and a quick scroll through things I don’t need to buy
but do, for the serotonin.
I’m supposed to be serious, I know.
Something about optimizing the ROI of my potential
and separating lights and darks before laundry,
but I’d rather write my grocery list in haiku
and email my boss from the bath.
It’s not that I’m lazy,
I just think chairs should recline more.
I think the word “urgent” should be banned
unless it refers to tacos or love.
I only want soft shirts,
emails that open with kindness,
socks that find their own partners,
And no cancer.
I want the world to hush a little—
just enough for me to hear my own brain
clink like ice in a glass
when it finally
lets
go.
Because my whole goal
is to make my life easier.
Not emptier,
just more of what I actually want—
like this poem,
which didn’t ask for anything
but came anyway.