Poetry

Everything and anything.

When nothing will fit anymore

and then you top it off with the special sauce.

Whether you like it or not

Life is nothing short of the works.

It throws everything at you

and all you can do is eat it.

Not everyone will grin and bear it.

Most will grump at the things they don’t like.

When that happens you can sympathize and then move on.

Or continue eating your own way through the works.

I am lying in bed

I need to shower

No, I may not sleep in the shower.

Wait, is my stomach grumbling?

Unless there is a fire

I’m not moving.

Now my bladder is pressuring me!

Too bad my room is on the first floor.

Number one is there are no rules.

Number two is break number one anyways.

After that, enjoy the chaos that life inspires.

Onions are layered.

So are cakes.

Most people like cake.

The stinky breath from onions does bother some people.

What about parfaits?

Everybody LOVES Parfaits!

What you’re an onion?

Okay,

whatever floats your boat I suppose.

Like sight no sound found

would break my world apart.

I want to know who is near me

even if I can not see them.

The mystery of how Mom knew

would no longer be a mystery.

Hearing someone’s voice is precious.

I want to love them and the words mean more when heard.

Too tired to eat breakfast.

It’s already noon.

The murmuring in my sleep

The anger I felt so clearly

The desire to never see my ex again

Never talk to him, never see him

My anger at his behaviour in the dream

Mirroring the behaviour I used to see

Knowing he hasn’t changed.

Realizing I’m still so angry at him

For what he turned me into.

A quivering, anxious, angry woman responsible for the mess he left on his children.

It is a privilege.

Not a right.

Too live without means boredom.

Or finding other ways to entertain yourself.

I have other means to connect to the internet

Even though my computer monitor is dead.

Will I live through this troublesome time.

Yes, I believe I will.

I can do it.

But as an addict might say

….. “I don’t wanna!”

When your mood of inspiration is nonsense and dread

you can only think of silly rhymes.

So the dead head

becomes a faint taint

that no longer runs fun.

And so my life is misery and pain

that means my children no love will gain.

Yep, its all the same, dame!

The yawns won’t stop.

My eyes do not want to stay open.

My limbs feel heavy and listless.

Coffee beckons but will not sustain me.

The road is long and the weather miserable.

I can not sleep here

or I will freeze to death.

Hopefully a motel will come along soon.