The Tired Talking

The Tired Talking

I feel like the lyrics in that song
You know, the one about being tired but not sleeping
When all my time is spent dwelling on not having enough time
and thinking of things I am certain will matter, but don’t.
The worn edge of a skirt,
Numbers on a scale,
Or the opinion of a random passerby.

You can’t blame me can you?
For I have been conditioned to worry,
taught to care about all of this.

But in the quiet moments in between I am daydreaming.
Thinking of the nightstand dwellers
Those whose fingers work by the phases of the moon
And those who get lost in the beauty of life and have no regrets.
I want to be among them.
To run along an endless stretch of sand
and get lost in an ocean of nothing and everything.

Perhaps that’s just the tired talking.
My eyes heavy now with a narrow focus straight ahead.
That is for sleep and dreams,
My weary mind begs, leave the worry again for tomorrow…

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About ShySpark

I blog, I garden, I eat cheeseburgers, and sometimes I take pictures. But mostly I just write poetry...
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Tired Talking

  1. Julie/MOM says:

    After catching up and reading all the wonderful things you wrote since I last visited Shyspark, me thinks my lovely daughter has caught the goodness of life. You are a wonderful writer, but most of all what you say leads me to believe you have come out of your protective shell and are ready to take on the world and all its wonders. Good for you! I too have felt the fellings you express so well and I am so happy for you. Hang onto every moment, even the not so good, because in the end it all will lead you to a most wonderous life. Love ya, MOM

  2. Pingback: Going Under | Running Naked With Scissors

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