Usually 6:30 By Meriah Murphy

When I wake up
I find that I hate morning
More than I did yesterday
I hate the way my eyes feel
Without my eyelids
As light climbs through
The slits in my window blinds
I hate how angry I am with the sun
Just for being there
I hate the cold air
That wraps around my neck
Like a scarf
Leaving goose bumps
For every extra moment I stay in bed
Each time the alarm clock sounds
Another string snaps
In the crevice of my mind
Where lullabies played
Just moments before
I hate this cacophony
Removing blankets becomes
Like removing a layer
Of my skin
Giving away a part of myself
Only to be reminded
By unpleasant chills
Of how much I need it
It is with one impulsive motion
That I must pull myself away
And as I stand
Vulnerable to whatever else
Morning can hit me with
I see she does nothing
As if she says
Go on, you’ve suffered enough
The worst is over
Have a nice day
I can find in myself
The will to smile
And with this
Morning and I have made amends
Until tomorrow