I write
Inwardly turned
Because this is territory I own.

It is not indiscrete to say
“Today, I ache, therefore, I am.
Today, loneliness and fear
Bleed through all of my existence.”

My cats are beautiful;
They sing to me.
My dogs are loving;
They bounce and play.

If my income were to go away,
What would become of them?
Oh, WOE!
What would become of them?

Too many days I wake
With dried out eyes and aching head
The world beneath the covers
Is so much better than out of bed.

But curled up beneath my blankets
Lets the dust bunnies out to play
Doesn’t call in the pennies and dollars
I need with which my bills to pay.

I can’t even seem to write in free verse
These verses insiste they need to rhyme
And I’ve got to close this poem
And get to work–I’m out of time.

Image by Foxtongue via Flickr