A poem by Micah Wheeler

Perfect timing for me is usually that split second before it’s too late. In other words I never understood the seriousness of a due date. That is until I realize all the time that went by could have been spent doing something productive or constructive.

But playing a few games of 2k with the crew is much more seductive. And as the blood gets flowing because the win streak is increasing. All the work I thought would be done by tuesday gets pushed into the weekend.  

Friday and Saturday pass without any recollection of what happened. On Sunday the whole day is spent on taking action. Cramming as much information inside the archives of my head muscle just to take a test the next day and still struggle to determine if you should fill in this or that bubble.

Now I’m in trouble because my grades reflect my effort. It’s not a problem however, because I know I can pull them up from the depths of hell with the strength of some of my best work. “A” worthy papers and projects can smooth over some of those jagged edges caused by missing journals and bombed quizzes.

I seldom visit that mindstate that pushes me to study a little longer. Discipline is hard to conjure because the pull of laziness is undeniably stronger. 

I’m often enticed to live life without being punctual because I realize my free time is a lot less functional when it’s smothered by deadlines that are as strict as prep school dress codes. I’d much rather sit on the couch and browse Netflix for the best shows.

Nine seasons, each episode one hour and thirty minutes a piece? You know how the rest goes. Binge watching The Walking Dead with a 1000 word paper due by midnight. I only wrote 200 but still I sit tight. I know I need to get right or my GPA will suffer. Ultimately making my life a bit tougher and those jagged edges even more rougher.

I’m playing with fire and destined to get burned. Not taking any wisdom from the lessons I learned. And badly enough, me not taking the time to cut these loose ends hinder all the blessings I could earn. But I do it to myself.

They give me more than enough time to do everything I’m supposed to do. All the work piling up makes it hard to figure out what’s old and new. It’s one demon, and the path he chose for you was designed for nothing more but controlling you. And those roads are far too familiar. 

One demon. Consuming the time I have to ultimately better myself for its own sake. If I’m being honest, even this poem was turned in late. At this rate I should expect for my professor’s perception of me to be consumed with hate.

If deadline was a girl, it would be a poor way to start the first date. One demon. Stopping me from doing the things I need to do to be great.

I’m sure we’ve all met him before, his name is “procrastinate.”