Too Much on the Plate

Dizzy with dates, my calendar spins,

each box overflowing, where chaos begins.

Crossing off notes with a frantic despair,

every missed appointment, a reminder laid bare.

Red ink marks the days, my head starts to ache,

what once felt like purpose now bends, starts to break.

The scribbles of plans bleed into the night,

a map of my burdens, laid out in the light.

Yet beneath this clutter, a whisper remains,

a pull towards the quiet, away from the chains.

In moments of stillness, I yearn to escape,

but for now, I’m tangled, a life that won’t wait.