most days. #poetry

dream. a poem by sandra.

most days
I don’t understand

what makes me smile
makes me cry
what makes me happy
makes me angry
what makes me go
makes me stop
what makes me wake
makes me sleep

most days
I don’t understand
why I feel
what I feel


©2018 what sandra thinks

About what sandra thinks

Sandra is a writer, blogger, poet, artist, emotional disaster. She thinks far too much and sleeps far too little. Sandra lives in the Northeastern U.S. but dreams of an oceanfront home in Italy, but she would settle for a non-oceanfront home in Italy, too. She loves books, brutal honesty, coffee, and the color black. She hates insincerity, beer, whipped cream, and facebook. And she is uncomfortable talking about herself in the third person.
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17 Responses to most days. #poetry

  1. That sucks. Don’t just feel like if you knew what The issue was, exactly, you could try and fix it? Hate that feeling. It’s maddening. 😠

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Meg says:

    Yes, not being able to understand what’s making you feel a certain way renders you helpless to try to fix it. And sometimes it’s just chemicals and there isn’t a way to think your way out of it. 😦

    Liked by 1 person

  3. gigglingfattie says:

    Me too, Sandra!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Purging stuff is always good. The more things I have accumulated and the more haphazard my house is, the less in control I feel.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Lennon Carlyle says:

    Beautiful……the image makes it.

    Liked by 1 person

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