The way you bundle in your robe annoys me
how slow you are to respond could make me scream
your guilty smile as you try to hide the habit I know is there
makes my chest flare up with anger
and my fingers want to tear.
When you shuffle down the stairs at eleven,
I try to hold back the sass
but your slippers and squinty eyes are too much,
and my mouth opens to fast.
When you finish off the granola,
that took me hours to make,
a comment slips out like a bar of soap
from hands as they try not to shake.
I'm really sorry for the times I snap-
back-talk, retort and hurt,
but I still love you for who you are
no matter what malicious things I blurt.
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