Weekdays sap my energy, weekends I sleep like a log,
To recharge my body fully, all noise and light I block.
I resist the laptop's start button, it's a screen-free time and zone,
I shy from blue rays, or smart tabs, as if transported to an age of stone.
Mind may race with thoughts still, I steady some words on a page,
Journaling, mindfulness, meditation, all tools to hammer the mind's rage.
Volunteering my time to causes dear, fills the spiritual void,
Sunrise and sunset fill my cup, the emptiness is destroyed.
The emotions bottled during the week, resurface and bubble up,
As I pour my heart on paper, it's filled again- my heart's cup.
Toxic people pushed aside, I choose with whom to socialise,
I guard my solitude with my life, I know where my priority lies.
I may heal my body and mind, but there will always be something amiss,
My weekend will remain bedridden, till I write a sonnet for you, miss!
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