When it pours, it pours—feelings, I mean.
A slip of the tongue brings forth sleepless nights—
more humiliation, less humbling.
The restless mind keeps on working,
repeating, rehearsing
things I should have said,
things I should say,
torturing the soul each day.
It pours and pours—feelings I long to let go.
Sleepless tonight; perhaps tomorrow will bring
more humility and less humiliation.
Stumbled Thoughts 