Bed Head

Photo from Pinterest.

Madison Barnes

I walk through the door

with plans on my mind

it’s half past four

I still have some time

my bed is ahead

she’s holding the rope

my desires shed

I lose all hope

she gets it caught

around my waist

it becomes taut

my breath escapes

she ties it tighter

and pulls me in

tighter, tighter

I cannot win

I hit the bed frame

my foot gets stuck

limbs in flames

I’m out of luck

this rope’s of steel

or so it seems

my bed’s new meal

is my desire’s screams

she comforts me

as manipulation

she pushes me

to relaxation

she whispers lightly

gets me to stay

the rope’s on tightly

and I’m astray

Background:

This poem is about procrastination. My bed is always in my head, and laying in it for hours instead of doing work gives me a bed head, so that’s where the title is from. Literally every time I open my bedroom door, I see my super comfy bed before me and it pulls me in. Then, I sit on social media for hours on it and miss out on opportunities. I hope you like this poem, and I encourage you to win the tug of war battle against your bed. Thanks for reading!