Those Days

A poem for when you just feel tired.

There are those days,

where the rain might spit on your windowsill,

and you’ll realize you weren’t meant

to rise in some quick fashion.

Your lashes will poke into your pillowcase

and your body, mind will try collectively to let go of yesterday,

slowly though, because it’s all unfortunately only just beginning.

Your sheets will cool you off, necessary, too

because though there is a liquid sanctuary outside,

you’ll burn along with the world to shed your skin.

You’ll sit up, stomach aching,

and you’ll turn to face the reflecting glass

To find that somehow it’s still you,

the form laid down to sleep just seven hours ago,

or maybe six.

The pellets outside won’t heal the pangs you feel

behind your swollen eyes.

The eyes that only want to see one hundred tomorrows

instead of any other todays.