Sleep Tight

I don’t understand
the appeal but I can’t
help but put on a show
because I’ve got a story
to tell and I can’t stay
seated and do it justice
so I’m on my feet and
pacing and my arms are
flailing everywhere and
I’m talking way too fast
for the human ear to pick
anything up and my face
is turning purple with
the effort it takes to
get all of this information
out of my head to hang
in the air between us
because you sympathize
in a conspiratorial way
but couldn’t imagine what
it is I’m really talking about
but the look on your face
gives you away and I know that
you would sit there with that
bemused expression for as long as
I would allow you because it doesn’t
matter what I say but only that I feel
comfortable saying it to you and then
collapsing onto the couch beside you
spent from the exertion of translating
my life from a jumble of stories with
mixed-up characters into a bedtime
story you can dissect while you sleep.


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