Early December

Originally published in my high school’s literary journal, 2004.

The title of my poem, in print! Image by Rachel B. Baxter.

Yesterday,
He told me that
Waking up is the hardest part.
I have come to see the truth
In his gently spoken words,
But only with limitation.
Living is the hardest part
When you can never wake up.
I was forced to retreat
Back to my silent refuge
Because I’m insensitive,
Or, are you insensitive?
Life is insensitive.
It tore us from our blankets
And it pried us from our sheets.
December does not look
Like a children’s picture book,
It is a gray, rainy mess
That we are supposed to rejoice in.
But, I can’t dance in fog,
I can’t find my shoes,
And the raindrops keep kissing
My eyelashes, just to tease.