Member-only story
Languid
A Poem
Some days, I wake up refreshed
and full of effort and vitality
where the sun is shining
through the cloudscape
and there is a skip in my step
On other days, I wake up languid
and slow-moving, unanimated
like a childhood drawing
that I want to come to life
but is only static lines
They don’t feel that different
because I am not made up
of extreme emotions and
widespread hyperbole,
which is strange because
to others, this might be
a great personal divide
Feeling listless can be a
product of my rest,
or restlessness thereof,
and isn’t always a sign
of depression or
human angst
I used to call it a day
when I woke up with
a lack of energy
because I didn’t have
the perseverance
to move my needle
and change the soft
trajectory of my life