Go to Bed


Patience just flew out the window,
heart is beating more quickly.
Reactivity reigns supreme.
Body is tired.
Mind is tired.
But tongue is hot and spitting venom.

No thought, no filters,
just increasing volume,
eye flashing, fast talking,
later regretting what was said.

When the anger supersedes the love,
this is when I need to be put to bed.

5 responses »

    • Yes, especially when one is sleep deprived! How is your writing going, Willow? Still churning out the wonderful poems? Can’t wait to see a book of yours!

      • Funny you should ask–I AM writing, but they’re quite short, and I’m thinking, maybe not what a literary journal would want. I think I’m sort of panicking, as though I already wrote all my good poems and am tapped out! I seriously doubt it, but I’m going to have to work on my mindset ๐Ÿ˜‰

      • I hear you Willow, that’s a slick little jab the critical mind is slipping into your consciousness–that you’ve already written all of your good poems! If you look at it closely, that’s actually pretty funny. We can think of your blog poems as warm-ups, and you can tell the critic (or the one who is panicking), “Hey buddy, I’m just getting started. Don’t open your mouth or you’ll be eating my dust!” ๐Ÿ˜‰

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