Howling

My writing gets wavy and I bet it would annoy some perfectionists out there. I’m annoying but I don’t care right now. They hate me, so I write about that too. The tree outside is weird and funny and bouncy. So I scribble a tree and the tree has a face. So I look outside again, and the tree is talking to me. I’m alone and talking to this tree. I’m in my room and I sleep here sometimes. But tonight, sleep seems silly and far away. Stretching out my words. Ohhh, Or awww! Or owww! Howling in my room. Until my mom hears my song and opens my door. She’s angry. I turn the light low but never off. And write about that too!