Playful Tiredness

Playful Tiredness short poem

Photo by thestevenalan


 There are times when I wake up…. And I think “I could lay here forever”. Soaking up the sunlight pouring in through my window. Onto the white comforter of my bed. Wrapped in the warmth of flannel sheets. I can hear my dad in the back yard breaking branches and clearing out the brush. Hear the birds calls fluttering in the wind. I could stay here. Drifting in and out of consciousness. The thoughts are foggy and nebulous. Spacy super novas and soap bath water. And I hear my mother downstairs washing dishes and talking on the phone. It’s funny how we spend so much of our lives sleeping. And it always seems that we are tired. But I have to get up. Out of my chrysalis of cotton. The wind is rising. I must try to live.

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