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A poem by Danielle Ferebee

Pacing back and forward, a loud pounding in my head

Sighing, crying, lying wide awake in my unmade bed

The totality of a single moment, lasts an entire lifetime

Page after page, I’ve read this chapter about a hundred times

I understood it once, but now it doesn’t make any sense

The words jumble together, the meaning becomes dense

It seems that nothing can save me from my own procrastination

I still seem to wonder, “Do I need this certification?”

Assuming all goes well and my money wasn’t wasted

Perhaps victory isn’t out of reach like others have tasted

But until then, my very own mind hangs by a thread

This is the week I will always dread

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