Sometimes I fall into a deep dark “leave me alone” hermit hole.
Where all I want to do is curl up
in the softness of my bed
Alone and away from the requisites of the day.
It would be quiet
and headache free
And I could aimlessly roam in my imagination
Like I did when I was a child
Where I’d make up stories And save the day.
But saving the day is more difficult
Outside of the hermit hole,
Where subjective interpretations and misperceptions
Make the truth murky
And processing the goings on of the day is exhausting business
And often result in mistaken conclusions
Making me want to escape and cushion
Myself in quilt-y quietness