Untitled #1

As it is, I'm very depressed.  So much so, I can only bring myself to watch depressing shows about murder, death, and divorce.  But really, I'm just sad.  I've just been exhausted lately.  And the first part of my day was fine.  The last four hours not so much.  After work it got much, much worse.  I'd rather not write about it.  Tomorrow, it will be better.  And at least what I'm upset about is not as bad as murder, death, or divorce.  It will pass.  I've just been tiptoeing an emotional tight rope lately.  I'm so blessed to be a woman right?

I don't really want to get into a tirade about my issues, so I will instead share something I wrote a week ago.  It's very short, and it's mine.  Copyrighted bitches.  It doesn't have a title.  Most of what I write gets titles after I write it, or never.  Perhaps I should number my untitled poems, like Emily Dickinson, or Bob Dylan (sort of).  So, here it is:

Shaking and crying into dreams,
we awaken like newborn babes.
Shaken and fragile,
Puffy and swollen,
Red and new,
to collapse into the arms of the one we love.
Learning to walk again,
quivering and frightened
to awaken once again to the newness of love.

Katrina, tell me what you think.
Goodnight loves.  As much as I'd like to fight sleep, as it's a hobby of mine, I need it badly.  I just can't get over myself and my insignificant problems tonight.  I need the clarity of sleep.