The sleep.

The sleep.

One day, when I was in high school,

I grew tired and went to bed. 

I slept eighteen hours or more a day.

I lost a year of school. 

Medical tests proved nothing.

Almost a year later,

I was rested. 


I wrote this at that time;


‘I was so down.

No matter what the doctors said,

I knew there was something wrong.

Week after week – I slept them away.


I missed my friends.

I missed myself.

I didn’t like this new me.

And if you had seen me,

You wouldn’t have either.


Only one person could put up with me,

Love me, and understand me.

She knew me inside and out.

She knew when to leave me be.

She knew when to just let me cry.

She knew how to make me laugh.

How to entertain me...

And, how to persuade me.


Hours after hours,

She sat at that same old table,

And played Rummie with me.

Sometimes I would do nothing but giggle.

And she would giggle,

Right along with me.

Other times I would be too tired to think.


Instinctively, she knew not to say a word.

If she told me I was tired,

I would only disagree irritably.

Always, it had to be my decision.

Because I hated to obey ‘it’.

I could not agree with ‘it’.

I despised the thought of feeling ‘it’.


How I pleaded.

Each time I looked in the mirror.

I would look at myself,

And ask...what’s wrong?

How many times I repeated it to myself

Then I would cry.

I was so frustrated.

I literally hated the reflection.

The face of no expression.

The complexion of no colour.

The distant and empty.


And she knew it.

She was the only one who understood.

No one else could put up with me.

I loved her for it.

I never told her.

I didn’t think I need to.

Perhaps, I should just let her know.

That without her I wouldn’t have made it.

More than just once too.

Constantly, I need her support.

Always, I will need her love.

You’re the greatest Mom.’


This was for an English assignment.

My teacher wrote on the bottom of the paper...

‘lovely writing’

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