Sometimes I wake up in a sea of blankets
the smell of coffee in the air.
Sometimes I trip on reading glasses
I guess I didn’t see them there.

Sometimes I look down at that little blue dot
and reminisce about the number 45.
About the innocent days,
the split chin, the burned foot, and the burned hand…

Sometimes I eat cereal for breakfast,
and lunch and dinner.
But when you’re drowning in swimsuits
you don’t have time for much else.

Sometimes I bring home my violin,
but all you ever hear is the train.
Sometimes I wake up in a sea of stress.
It’s 3:30 am and I’m tired,
I can only think about all the time I need
but can never really have.

Sometimes I trip on textbooks and pens.
I say to myself, “It doesn’t get easier.”
Sometimes I look down at the line cutting me in half,
and reminisce about the worst days.
The cold dark days that nearly took a life.

Sometimes I find happiness in the simplest things.
The house in the tree,
the number 45.

Sometimes I wake up in a sea of blankets,
the smell of coffee in the air.
And I think to myself
“Just a bad dream, it does get easier.”