As a small child, I always fought sleep.
Never going to bed without making a peep.
I was the opposite of quiet-
I started bedtime riots.
Now what I wouldn't give to lay in bed counting sheep.
About the Creator
Kristen Balyeat
Words fly to me on the wind, bump into me as I'm strolling the city, splash me in the face while I rest by the river, and shake me awake in the middle of the night—I’m humbly one of the vessels they use to come to life.
Also, i love you:)
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More stories from Kristen Balyeat and writers in Poets and other communities.
Political Thirty-Three
Inevitable? A woman named Good is lost. Unforgivable. * Note: I don't think that I have to explain this one to anyone noting recent news, but I have included a video link below for future generations who can still feel empathy and compassion for someone who got caught up in history. And I was just too angry to say more with this piece.
By Kendall Defoe 5 days ago in Poets
Comments (1)
I love your writing style, and this is my favorite limerick so far. It’s so universally felt.