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Friday, September 18, 2015

Bedtime is Terrible

His angry words burn like glowing daggers.
His small frame shines with the might of armies.
He tramples my soul with his dissatisfaction.
His anger overflows.

He is my husband, my father, my brother.
He is me and mine.
A snarled reflection of all that I hope to be.
A fragrant symbol of repeated failure.

I am responsible
And I have no words.
Nothing kind, nothing gracious
Only anger and fear to face the same.
We stalemate at the edge of the evening.

It is night, and yet no one is sleeping.

Anger is wide awake.

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