PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

T'was the day after Christmas And all through the house
Birdie was screaming He's no quiet mouse
And my socks on the floor Flung around with little care
And with the smell of tequila And cigarettes in my hair
I was snuggled up onto their bed
Until I had to go back home, halfway dead
Back to my sweats, and back to my room
Sleeping away until the morning of doom
From out in the kitchen such a loud commotion
With the sound of very angry emotion
Lazily getting up to see what's the matter
Birdie was just fricking out of water
The crack of sunlight that appears through my window
Is so small that if you asked me if it's morning, I wouldn't know
So I slowly get up to slowly prepare
My way for another day of work, my dear
I went out of my cave and by Birdie I stoop
Then my dad says, "Wait. I have to poop!"
I changed Birdie's bowl and wait in frustration
Because I'm already bad with procrastination!
"Why now? Why me? I tried to get up!
I'm tired, got back at four way before they sun's up
I wish I can snuggle in my bed all day.
Hide away! Hide away! Oh God Hide away!"
As my feet stumbled across my floor
I look for a black shirt and a little more
I'm looking for socks, jeans and a shoe
And my make up that's scattered around, too
Then the creaking outside my door that I heard
It's my mother walking around without a word
She's in her nightgown and a pair of jeans
She looks odd and she she starts to clean
Herself unable to sit down or stay still
Knocking at my door with all her will
Telling me to get ready for I work alone
And that to be down in that semi-harsh tone
And then I sit down only half way done
Although I shouldn't since it's 10:41
I know where my clothes are but I don't change
Just chilling as I am, is it really strange?
My nose slightly stuffy and I sound like a prick
Just because there's a chance I might be sick
Oh boy, I hate work and I need to get ready
For the income is less than steady
I slowly lift up my feet
And my ass gets off of my seat
So down the stairs I can go
Ready and morales low
I reach for my shoes and ran down the stairs
Because the first phone calls are what they fear
But I hate this, work all day and all night
"Fuck Christmas, I worked. Now give me a Bud light!"
12/26/11