Middle School Reading Phase

Not exactly a poem but a little thought I had.

you sit in your bed, turning the pages of a book you've been trying to finish for the longest time. this used to come so easy to you- reading. in a matter of days you'd gobble up hundreds of pages and not feel tired in the slightest. 

getting to the end of a single one feels like a chore now. 

you miss the middle school you. not in its entirety, but in the bits where you were the most productive you had ever been, where you had been relatively unscarred and full of naive hope. where you could read like it's the only thing in the world you could possibly do. 

sometimes you think if reading is best enjoyed when engaged in as a form of escapism? is that why every time an exam or an important work task rolls around, the books abandoned on your nightstand suddenly look absolutely enticing? is that what you've done all of your childhood? escape?