This is the only thing I ever procrastinate on.

every day before midnight,
with spots and sleep in my sight,
my laptop shining blinding light
there’s a strong chance that I just might
be writing blog posts.
way too late,
cutting it much too close,
and rather depressingly:

This is the only thing I ever procrastinate on.

I do my homework: I’m a good kid.
I do it early- late work? God forbid,
I don’t want my grades to slip off the grid
I’d seriously, probably break down if they did.
For real though,
I genuinely don’t know
where I would go
or what I would do

If I didn’t finish all my schoolwork early.

This is the only thing I procrastinate on.
Along with thinking about my life
or the future.
About who I’d love, when I’d meet her,
the depressing way i trace my suture
that sewed silence. And temporary hope
that lies in zooming in my scope
of events and lives
of fate- and besides,
what good is any joy or happiness
if you’re born naked and ethereal, Venus.

Aphrodite claimed her clam.
I laid here and built a damn
for myself. And my bloodstream
with hands on my mouth,

muffled screams.

Venus rose, pearl to oyster,
I traced my face, lifting moisture
that clung with salt on my hands,
melting to her demands,
A desperate stomping

and my ignorant romping.

I’m a child. I don’t think I should be worrying too much
about the future
but I think I do.
But I also know
That after This Poem
I will go right back to ignorance.
and I will forget about fate.

And like venus from her oyster,
aphrodite from her clam,

I’ll be new.
and beautiful.