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.