Word By Word
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Every ounce of the floor is covered.
Tiny pieces bite at my toes.
Pointed edges veer my path.
My eyes are overwhelmed by the heaping piles.
Pleads have been made.
Bargains have been struck.
Demands have been set down.
There is now a bare spot in the middle of the floor.
My hair is changing colors, silver tinsel is appearing.
I have reached my boiling point.
My patience is about to explode.
When will this playroom ever be cleaned?
Can anyone guess what I'll be working on tomorrow afternoon?
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