a poem about reflection and regret.

Photo by Gregory Pappas on Unsplash

when i was six years old,

i’d always try to pull

a fast one over on

my mom.

see,

i didn’t want to go to bed

when it was supposed to be

my time to go to bed.

i wanted to stay awake

and spend more time

with her.

so i’d do as i was told

and crawl into bed, but

within moments of being tucked in,

i’d jump out of my sheets and tell my mom

i was having a nightmare.

she’d always say that

i have to fall asleep first

in order to actually have a bad dream,

but now that i’m much older

and she’s dead, i don’t necessarily

think that’s the case anymore.

i think life

can become a nightmare itself,

and i know that’s the case

because mine has.

lately,

i like to sleep more than ever

because the only time i can spend

with her nowadays is when

she appears in my dreams.

☽