Made Into A Morning Person

April 8, 2011
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I live it every day.
Wake up looking forward to it,
Going to bed, satisfied, after it.
It’s as if when that time comes around, the rest of the world is gone
The field and me. Orange poles is where you place your goals,
I conquer them one at a time.
It feels as if when I shoot,
The world stops until the ball connects with the net.
Or soars past it like an obstacle in the way of a dream.
No matter what, it makes me better
I see it as the air I breath,
Without it, consider me dead
I am, what you call, an athlete,
But to me, I am no athlete, just a boy doing as he dreams
I do it for the necessity, the escape from all
But when I’m out on the grassy plain, alone
I feel like the one leaf that hangs onto the tree after all others have fallen
There is no getting to me, communication is cut off
That’s why every day, I feed my addiction,
So that tomorrow, when all chips are down,
I have a reason to roll out of bed.

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