I cam across some of my poems from college.  These were written for an actual poetry class, and this one was inspired by the chronic insomnia that I had (and still struggle with).

Colors get muted
As thought they were too bright
For your mind to handle

I has other things to do:

Like cradle your slumping head
That gained a pound
For every hour
You didn’t sleep;

Like find garbled words
In dark corners
For your heavy tongue;

Like translating languages you used to know
And sifting
All the noises.

And when night comes,
When respite is near
Keeps going.

And you look up
At the already counted ceiling tiles.


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