Journal 5

I’m pretty sure I think too much

(or maybe not enough)

because every time a floorboard creeks in the night

I am convinced someone is breaking in,

hatchet in hand.

 

Someone snagging the last box of Oreos at the store

proves I am marked for misfortune, and

my phone laying silent on the tabletop

means everyone is hanging out without me.

 

A suspicious mole is sure to be cancer,

stubbed toes will make me crippled for life,

and never speak of a late night toothache –

I might as well order my dentures now.

 

But I still have all my teeth and feet and hair,

and so far there are no murderers disturbing the air,

or even waving the last box of Oreos menacingly.

So maybe I should just stop thinking,

and finally go to sleep.

 

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One Response to Journal 5

  1. jreece1992 says:

    I thought this poem was hilarious. I don’t know if that was your intention, but I think especially the first stanza is rather entertaining when you talk about how you assume every noise in the night is a murderer coming to kill you. It’s an experience we’ve all gone through, even if you experience more than others. Best of luck getting to bed tonight.

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