Endless Cycle

During the day
I feel, always, in the back of my mind
The itch
The urge
To write
To draw
To create
Except.
I have two young daughters
(one, covered in chicken pox)
(one, two years old and full to the brim with joie de vivre and mischief)
Who need me
Need my attention
And a house that feels the effects
Of two young girls, stuck at home.
So.
I wait.
Counting down the hours.
Biding my time.
Until
Bedtime.
And after the baths and stories and kisses and hugs and glasses of water and more kisses and more hugs and tucking back into bed and tucking back into bed again and sometimes but not always tucking in a third time because it’s just that sort of a night
I’m free
(as long as I can ignore the dishes)
(I’m remarkably good at ignoring the dishes)

But
I’m less remarkably good at ignoring
Facebook…

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About allsortsofawesome

I'm pretty much made of awesome. (she said, in a voice dripping with modesty)
Aside | This entry was posted in All Sorts of Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Endless Cycle

  1. Nalena says:

    Loved this one! Made me smile!

    Like

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