Sunday mornings I hate
sit on my bed, my hair flying everywhere
the sun seems bright, too bright for me
[I'd so much rather go back to sleep]
Sunday morning's are the worse
you know why?
'cause the toaster always burns my toasts
and I never liked things that are crunchy
But Sundays must come, for if they weren't
neither would Saturdays or Mondays be
or any other day of the week
But the feeling of absolute boredom I get
Whenever I wake up on a Sunday, I just can't stand
I get of my bed, make it to the kitchen and grab a cup
pour some coffee in and then some sugar
Yes, we love to make bitters sweet
But sugar isn't the best way for me
It's like cutting all Sundays off a calendar
and pretend they don't exist
[Afterall, I don't like my coffee sweet]
Comments
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Really unusual poem and metaphors...good though
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Thanks. I'm glad you got that it's a metaphor.. although I really DO hate Sundays
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I like it 20000 times very much
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Haahhaa that's 20000 times more than I like it! LOL
Thank you very much for your comment..
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