I'd love to close out my day
with a poem: something
pastoral or lyrical or political or important,
but my head hurts.
My daughter wants me to read her a story,
but my head hurts.
My wife wants me to watch TV,
but my head hurts.
Life hurts my head hurts my children hurt me I hurt myself I hurt them they hurt each other.
Everybody hurts by REM.
I want to be present and happy,
but I feel as though my children beat the happiness
right out of me; discarding my velveteen
body, worn from laundry, bedtimes,
shower arguments, homework, yelling,
lots of yelling, and they
throw me
away.
And so I will get ready for bed and sleep and start again
tomorrow because I love my family,
I love my children, and
I love my life.
1 comment:
This is something I wrote at the end of the day. I am not sure if it is too narrative or list-like, but I thought I would put it out there. Also, I do like the last stanza, but it sounds a bit cliche for this poem. Thoughts?
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