The pain
rests in my joints,
radiates into my muscle fiber,
reschedules my day.
It demands med
breaks in the garage,
naps while my son gorges on
YouTube videos and loneliness.
My eyes itch with pot smoke;.
It clings to a jacket I take off
Before I sit near him.
He notices how engaged
I am, how focused,
How silly I am
When I am indeed very silly
For choosing pain relief
Over sober parenting.
YOU ARE READING
Big Eyes
PoetryPoems from my path across the United States as I attempt to heal and find my family. ***my mother and I have reconciled. We're good, you shouldn't worry.
