Smothered

A slow morning.
The sun is too bright.
The day too early.

Your lover still sleeps
as you drive with your almost headache,
a need to be in a certain place at a certain time

to hear someone you do not know ramble
in an attempt to fill your head
with more than you need to know.

This is it. The battle to remain simple,
focused, a basket made to hold one or two things
piled high with others’ clutter.

I know. It means something, the noise.
It means something to someone, and you are the odd one,
too simple for the world you live in.

too plain. Too needy of peace. Of empty places.
always dancing the tightrope between yourself
and the world that loves you

so much
you are smothered.
Overcome with needs not your own.

About this poem.

I had no plan for this poem. I just grabbed a picture and spat out a line, allowing my brain to just flow without direction. I do that often. I am always surprised at what comes out.

I am not sure my brain should be left alone.

Tom