Of all the places

Of all the places I love best, my most favorite is my bed.
I'm grateful that I have one, and I take great care of it, too.
A comfy pillow top mattress to lay my heavy head,
along with the softest sheets to chase away my blues.

My bed is the place I go to sleep at night.
It assists me to a quick slumber,
and holds me when I write.
No, my bed does not have a number.

Boxed Goods

My current mood, a roller coaster of emotions.
Down on the floor, I calm the commotion.
Memories are scattered and somehow misplaced.
I want to keep them all, but yet I have no space.
Above me, a mind's eye view of dreams yet to be dreamed.
Time is standing still for me.
Uncontrollable tears stream down now.
Box it all up? What? How?

Christmas

I can't sleep. The sound of the night is creeping into my head. It won't let me rest, and now I'm out of bed. My Christmas tree is lit red this year, and the tree smells beautiful at night. I have somehow given into writer's block. I keep trying to tell myself that the anxiety of the Holidays are keeping me from adding to my work in progress. My characters are on vacation.

Christmas time is an anxious time for me. I am 32 years old now, and I still expect Santa to come to my house in the middle of the night, like he did when I was 3 years old. Yes. I do have a mind of my own, and a great memory to help me remember the details.

I wish Santa would come in and have a chat with me.