There are days when I am not good.
When I shake and bellow.
When every lost second snatches
a bit of my mortified flesh.
When I push and prod bewildered children
with sleep-filled lashes.
There are days when I give up
before even starting.
Before even flaring the storm
I am keening, retreating.
Lower my standards to the cellar of obscurity.
Demand nothing.
Just seethe and resent…
and seethe some more.
In quiet
in despondent
in piteous
self-condolement.
There are days when my voice rankles,
my wit bites,
I slice and splice,
dissect and reject.
I push hard
against those I love,
those chains once chosen.
There are days when I am not good.
Not good enough.
findingtimetowrite 
Hi there, I found you on RC Gale’s blog where you shared this link. Glad you did. I really like this poem, as I can relate. Especially here:
There are days when I give up
before even starting.
Oh, I hear ya. So true and those days I really should just lay in bed.
Thanks for stopping by and for your comment. I’ve lately beeing trying to have a more positive slant on this: if I don’t get out of bed, how will I know what sort of day it’s going to be? And even when everything has gone wrong in the morning, sometimes a smile or a kind word or some sunshine in the afternoon can turn your day around…