Excuses

I put my feet up on the chairs not out of blatant disrespect.
If I were an infant, would you be more forgiving?
I retreat into my sheets, just thinking about the marathon of a day.
The list of things I’ve failed to do grows like my laundry pile.
Maybe I just won’t do anything; I’ll never leave this bed.
I shrug off ugly feelings when boys don’t approach me.
I can’t seem to focus today; my thoughts are vortexes.
I must propel myself above the storm-
like rising from a pool using just my arms.
If I were depressed, would you expect me to?

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