The Messy Life of a Cleaning Workaholic
Poem
I wake up,
In these four walls again and again
The sunlight revealing the mess that keeps piling up.
Inside I silently complain.
I’m barely home but when I am, it looks like a foreign place.
My family are more strangers than the people I am forced to converse with on a daily basis.
Walking around my workplace with a fake smile on my face.
Pretending this is my own oasis.
This isn't always how I used to be…
Before I didn't have a set time to be anywhere or do anything.
I was free, but now I work harder than a busy bee.
I feel like I'm suffering from a bee sting.
Cleaning is such a meaningless task
If only life was less of a mess...
That's all I ask
its impossible for people to clean up after themselves, that’s where I come in handy, I guess?
All the work is done
I sleep in my room
The moon replaces the sun
Only for work to resume.
I wake up,
in these four walls again.
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