The Morning.

Wed, 10/19/2016 - 17:02 -- kpgoode

You know the days aren't so bad when you can wake up without any struggle.
And actually look decent.

When the days are bad, you struggle, getting out of bed becomes pointless. 
Looking even semi-decent is like trying to climb a mountain. Without any gear. 

When he asks you what's wrong, you just look at him and shrug. The problem is that you don't even know why your down. You just are. 

It's a constant mystery the moment you wake up. The question you ask your self every morning as you lay in bed looking up at your ceiling: is today a good day?

This poem is about: 


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