MorningA Poem by BeeI'm bad at waking up.6am perfect. There it is every morning, immediate confrontation from air unlike my dreams, an electron thick gap begins to buzz between what is true and what I wish I could be. I lay there, sick of tricking myself into believing that I am concrete, I am made of much softer things that refuse to stay solid and still. This is why I shower late at night, to dull my frantic mind on thoughts that I will never feel real. it's powers work as the water runs over me, casing skin. I feel truly myself in the bathroom window's reflection, it is the only thing keeping me from joining the deep night sky within. I go to bed and try to think of nothing. Dreading the forever coming of morning, 6am perfect, and saddening.
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Added on November 24, 2017Last Updated on November 24, 2017 |