For some reason, I love giving myself a hard time. I don't know why, and likely, I'll never know. Recently, I've swallowed a super-sized portion of self-imposed guilt. But if I memorialize my guilt in writing, it'll go away, right? Well, that's the hope. At any rate, my ridiculous self-reproach has inspired the following poem.
Weary, wringing wet from months of labor
I'd promised myself a brief reprieve
But rest warps into restlessness and wanting
And soon I'm a bundle of raw needs
Head full of self-imposed honey dos
Begging to be crossed off a list
That resides solely in my mind