Not my morning.

The sun is up.

Not me.

I am warped

Into a me

That looks

like me

But

Not me.

I move my legs

And drop them to the ground

I drop them,

Thrusting through

The jim-jams,

Unwillingly loud.

The unnerving first step

and the next that

converts me

Into everything

Not me.

Just because,

Your sun is up

I have to be that everything.

--

--

--

From Malaysia. A business owner. A painter and a closet poet. Hates roaches.

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Beata Beatrix

Beata Beatrix

From Malaysia. A business owner. A painter and a closet poet. Hates roaches.

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