Venting
The day is ended but my mind is still bending
replaying the twist and turns
that are the navigations of my day.
Second guessing and venting,
wishing I could've made a move
or remembering what I could have said:
or maybe if I had of jacked her up
I wouldn't be spewing and mad
beating this pillow down
letting these petty frustrations
grit in my grind when the day
should be done with me sleeping
And dreaming about the babies down the hall
and the man at my side
whose snores should sounds
of love if I hadn't of came home
still grinding, replaying,venting off
noxious fumes of wrath,
each move keeping my mood in crap
instead letting this home
recreate my day,
make a house of love
with me snoring.
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