half awake. half asleep.
staring at the ceiling
stucco sort of texture
and the smudges
it's equally fascinating and disconcerting -
how many lives were lived in this space
the good, the bad, the memories created here
in this very same place that i call home
"if the walls could talk..."
or make their own history book
and i'm really thankful they don't talk, sometimes
funny the way we hide behind walls
disclose our hearts
facades set aside
behind closed doors
all of these thoughts were so loud
i could barely hear the hum of the ceiling fan
i couldn't get comfortable
i couldn't resolve to get out of bed
so i just let my thoughts weave their webs
i just stopped talking myself out of things
no need to fake it
and i missed the early days, a little
when you'd coax me to release my worries
like balloons to the sky
and i speak calm to your troubled mind
ok with being present...
happy... content to be here
because beyond a shadow of a doubt;
it's where i'm supposed to be
because sometimes i'm so very uncertain
down to sleep.