Morning breath tastes like unfinished dreams,
Alarm clock screaming like the city got beef.
Eyes half-open, I scroll through a thousand lives
While mine still loading like weak Wi-Fi grief.

Bus stop philosophy with tired faces,
Everybody running but nobody racing.
Streetlights dying while the sun takes shifts,
Old men coughing smoke into morning mist.

Coffee cheap, but it keeps me stitched,
Cause adulthood came with a glitch.
Bills stack taller than my notebook pages,
Yet I still write bars in the cracks of cages.

Teacher voice in the daytime,
Poet soul in the night shift.
I translate pain into punchlines,
Turn heartbreak into side scripts.

Students laughing in the corridor loud,
Some trying to disappear in the crowd.
I see myself in their restless stare,
Kids carrying storms nobody repairs.

Lunch break silence and a phone full of drafts,
Tiny revolutions hidden between paragraphs.
Then back to the streets where the engines growl,
Concrete jungle humming its evening howl.

Vendors shouting like spoken word poets,
Rain hitting rooftops making drum solos.
Neon lights flicker over puddle reflections,
City got scars but still flexing perfection.

Night falls slow on the island heat,
Barefoot thoughts walking home with me.
Mic in my head though the room stays still,
Every routine hiding a dream to build.

Cause my life ain’t cinematic gold,
Just daily survival with a stubborn soul.
But every bus ride, every sleepless dome,
Turns into verses when I walk back home.

Written by: Stef