I get out of bed into the cold of my room

Dreading the day that has yet to start.

I look back at them and sigh at the thought

Of doing the dishes and making breakfast.

 

Yet, in less than ten minutes I will wake them up

In the pretense of annoyance, call them to eat

Not having made a breakfast for myself.

I’ll live.

 

They don’t allow me to experience the bliss

Of my beloved act of self-sacrifice.

They demand that I eat, that I have water,

That I tell them if I’m hungry or tired.

 

When they look off,

I ask them if they’re mad,

Frustrated or angry at me.

They say that no, they’re okay,

Just tired.

 

I hold their hand

and I know that I, too,

one day will be okay.

With them by my side.