I feel like I have clouds in my brain.
Or maybe cotton balls.
My parent's voices break through, piercing the fog
and then I float back into the sky.
I don't know why I get like this...
it happens every once and a while.
I want to sit and do nothing all day
I want to be alone.
Inside my head, I know I should be spending time with family
reaching out to friends
but I am perfectly at peace, here in my own head.
Trapped in my self-constructed bubble.
I hear the mixer downstairs,
Dad making us a treat...
but what if I don't want to leave
my small bedroom retreat?
And suddenly my poem is rhyming...
but I can't seem to move my feet.
My body won't move to the world's timing...
so I stay here in my seat.
And my seat is really just the floor.
See? I'm desperate for a rhyme.
I'm going to break that pattern now...
isn't that sublime?
Dang it...I rhymed again,
I just couldn't help it.
I feel better already...
but yet, still here I sit.
This poem is going nowhere,
so now I'm off to write
a story that no one will every read--
the story of my life.