Time to myself
a chance to breathe and rest my legs
under the stress, the heat index
from inside my 3 shirts
a cold, busy day
two hours from being over
let's push it back to three
keep up the consistency
I was running around so fast, so much
talking like I wasn't an introvert
looking people in the eye
when the time for dialogue approaches
instead of staring at my feet like I would if I was skating
I've grown a lot but in more ways than one I haven't grown up at all
Apologies, my inner monologue slipped out
I've been avoiding thinking
knowing once I've started
I couldn't run away
that the adrenaline I maintained
would start to wane
while gazing at the snow outside the window pane
plain as day, the sun shining should signal good luck to come
maybe the weather will let up a little
making the ice turn brittle
hopefully bring a measure of warmth
or grant me the ability to grow polar fur
if only to survive the new February chills
so I can make it home to my bed
take a muscle relaxer and fade out like a song
I don't need thrills or shrills
a stroll or a secret undertow hidden among secret undertones
Saturday, Saturday is meant for relaxation, hibernation
and all I'm doing now as the transitioned to Sunday
is stuck in a rut
freezing under a blanket
trapped in a terrible conversation I wove
with no good outcomes
it's disastrous
and I can't find a way to save my skin
why can't this day pass without falling to pieces
plucking me from my ascension to clouds
plummeting me to the ground below like an asteroid
doomed and toxic
I keep desiring to go away for awhile
feeling like it's best
this screw up just wants rest
to be of use
to stop being a headache
yet all I get are headaches
and I keep diving into oblivion
headfirst
hoping to crack my head on concrete
maybe that will knock some sense into me
or finally put me to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time
forget a rhyme
please let tonight pass on by
obliterate this cursed holiday
send it on its way
never though I'd wish for this
but please just give me nothing but Mondays
I'm so very tired of baring my soul on these Sundays
so very tired of being miserable
crying for this foolish woman to wake up and see
if I couldn't help her before
I could never help her now
© Crowthepoet