Sad Poetry

Closed

I look around and I'm overwhelmed,
With anger, stress and fright,
I clean the house in the morning,
In the afternoon, all day and night.
It doesn't matter what I do, there's always one more thing,
Messes left everywhere,
For only I to clean.
When I voice aloud my pains, I'm ridiculed you see,
Eventually I learned to keep those complaints to me.
But each unorganized, misplaced item,
Adds more unto my plate,
My list of to do's is long, and never ending,
But don't I dare complain.
Anxiety attacks, a racing heart, eyes that can't stop staring,
The sugar on the coffee table, the anger in me flaring,
I'm tired of this overload,
Why can't I be laid back?
I don't want to be on this road,
Why can't they put stuff back?
I organize, sweep and stack,
Yet contenfulness I lack,
It's not quite OCD, but it's a similarly paved road,
I am only at peace and rest, when my eyes are closed.

Jane / poems