There is a sleep that waits for me every morning.
Because I chase it out of my eyes when I jog;
And later wash off its residue with soap and water as I get ready for the day,
It wanders off to my classroom and sits on my seat;
Whistling and dangling its feet.
I go to my class filled with good vibes.
Smiling at happy faces; avoiding groggy ones;
Putting one foot in front of the other one;
And stepping to the music in my head.
‘It’s a great day for learning!‘ I tell myself.
I get to my seat and smile.
The sleep that waits for me smiles back at me.
I sit and it embraces me;
As comfortable as a cushion protecting my buttocks from hitting rock bottom;
Like a lie shielding me from the blare of truth.
My lecturers are talking excitedly and I cannot understand why
The sleep that waits for me is singing to me and playing with my eyelids like a swing
Up and down; Down and up
I smile with the corner of my mouth, catching myself.
My head also nods sometimes imitating the swings that are my eyelids
Down and up.
My lecturers are talking excitedly and now I understand why
Sleep does not love them like it loves me.