The week catches under my nails
and snags me by Friday.
I unravel my frustration
Until all I am is loose threads
gathering at the foot of my bed.
Sometimes, I try to pull myself together
and knit myself into a tangled mess of knots,
problems, and last minute requests.
Other times though, I stretch them out
to the length of my bed and lay there for days.
Either way, my heart always presses reset
on its ribcage end table, and my skeleton
jumps and sparks, while pulling back my aura
like a stubborn child kicking and screaming on the floor,
so I will be ready for next week to start the process over again.
Poetic Trials 