Alone not so much anymore.
When I discovered after a 20 year hiatus,
How much I like to be alone...it startled me.
I grew accustomed, for every Monday to Friday I was alone, but never lonely.
No constant chaos, and kids...and so much adaptation.
Because tonight I fear it and that feels weird.
To have something that became familiar,
Now be haunting. And yea I am going to write a poem about it.
Awake in the night, cold sweat not breathing.
Just another nightmare.
Stiff.
If I could fully describe what's happened to my mind,
No need for scary entertaining.
Empty there that's a season over.
Replace by day mares over and over.
Same theme.
If you end it, you wake up out of this?
What am I to believe?
When nothing brings comfort?
When I am alone except for my memories?
When I utilize your image to hold me?
Our continue to write this story?
No.
I have no time.
No time to waste, and yet here mundane.
Pulled in directional plains...not one minute to spare.
And everyone says I should volunteer my time?
What?
What?
There's not a minute to spare in my full day!
I am never idle...
I feel consumed and it is probably because
I live in more than one realm.
It is confusing.
And harder than it looks.
Books don't write themselves and I can't even get to it,
On the weeks I don't have my kids!
What the heck?
And this is not a poem!!! It's a random rant because I am tired and don't want to put away clothes, that was the alternative.
When I discovered after a 20 year hiatus,
How much I like to be alone...it startled me.
I grew accustomed, for every Monday to Friday I was alone, but never lonely.
No constant chaos, and kids...and so much adaptation.
Because tonight I fear it and that feels weird.
To have something that became familiar,
Now be haunting. And yea I am going to write a poem about it.
Awake in the night, cold sweat not breathing.
Just another nightmare.
Stiff.
If I could fully describe what's happened to my mind,
No need for scary entertaining.
Empty there that's a season over.
Replace by day mares over and over.
Same theme.
If you end it, you wake up out of this?
What am I to believe?
When nothing brings comfort?
When I am alone except for my memories?
When I utilize your image to hold me?
Our continue to write this story?
No.
I have no time.
No time to waste, and yet here mundane.
Pulled in directional plains...not one minute to spare.
And everyone says I should volunteer my time?
What?
What?
There's not a minute to spare in my full day!
I am never idle...
I feel consumed and it is probably because
I live in more than one realm.
It is confusing.
And harder than it looks.
Books don't write themselves and I can't even get to it,
On the weeks I don't have my kids!
What the heck?
And this is not a poem!!! It's a random rant because I am tired and don't want to put away clothes, that was the alternative.