My stories are dreams I had
*this poem is really personal. It might make you very sad. Faint of heart beware* Oh baby who never was and never will be. No name. No life. I'm so sorry. I blame myself for what has happened.
I think, when I become a parent I will observe my child's actions rather than acting on an assumption. I think I will try to understand them and realize that when they need to be let go, I will let...
-yawn- I sat up on the old fold out futon I had been dozing off on. My eyes opened reluctantly and painfully. I had fallen asleep with my contacts on again.
So I usually write stories but I wrote a poem on the pot >:3. I once had a small pet fish. He was red with fins that went swish. He swam his bowl all day, all night.
I sat on the unevenly carved, stone bench and picked at the loose rubble. It was the darkest, deepest black I had ever seen. It reminded me of the empty feeling I had inside of me.
Me and my husband browsed the aisles of the market for a new pasta. It was new recipe night and we didn't want the regular penne or linguini.
I was sound asleep. Rain dropped gently upon the window. I peeled my blankets off slowly and tried to emerge from my comfy nest. The bed grew. I inched closer to edge of my mattress. The bed grew.