mornings, or - a poem

i spend the start
of my morning
in quiet contemplation.

i lie in bed,
too frustrated to rise
fraught with internal conflict.

i sleep long
to dream out
the demons that would eat my days

i laze in bed
because a lion sits on my chest
saying i jump to no command.

i seek refuge in bed
because my fucking father
used to yell me down of a weekend morning,
frantic for his notion of control.

i lounge
of a morning
in the one soft space i've known some safety.

but their shit follows me,
even there,
so eventually i get up.