Captain of the Chaos

The winds of April howl and bite,

My sails are full, my grip is tight.

With projects stacked like cannonballs,

And deadlines echo through the halls.

I steer this ship through storm and foam,

While dreaming of a calmer home.

One internship drops anchor soon,

Another waits beneath May’s moon.

Forty hours of trauma’s tide—

To guide the hurt, to stand with pride.

But first I chart the seas ahead,

With swirling thoughts and aching dread.

Tax forms sealed in wax and ink,

A lease to sign, no time to think.

My compass spins—north, south, then west—

No space to breathe, no time to rest.

Still, I lace my boots and take the wheel,

Though nothing ‘round me feels quite real.

I brace the mast, I haul the rope,

Tethered to the thinnest hope.

Workout plans like distant shores,

Self-care knocking at locked doors.

But I’m the captain—storm-worn, bold—

With grit in my teeth and a heart of gold.

The sea is wild, the skies are gray,

But I survive another day.

A pirate soul in student skin,

Still fighting hard, still holding in.

So raise the flag, and light the flame—

I’m weathered, yes, but not ashamed.

For though this voyage tests my might,

I chase the dawn—I choose the fight.

~rmc