In the eye of the storm <br />shall rest our eternal redemption. <br /> <br />I stand by the bathroom window, <br />let the sun shine generously on my face, <br />and write with such exuberance— <br />I wonder how could I not call such a task <br />my way of life? <br /> <br />Instead I'm a daughter, and not a good daughter <br />but a restless, sick, defiant one— <br />Counting lovers on her fingers and toes <br />darting off into the night at the first sign <br />of possible escape. <br /> <br />So nervous to a stranger's eye. Fidgety, <br />indecisive. Tensed nerves. I do not know <br />why—perhaps it's because what's to come <br />cannot be as good or wonderful <br />as what's been lived.<br /><br />s./j. goldner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brooding-hen-and-her-alibi-the/
