Original:
Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.


Our version:
Monday’s child will be a superhero – ABIGAIL
Tuesday’s child never gets a zero – JULIA
Wednesday’s child loves to smile – ASHLEY
Thursday’s child is kinda wild –
Friday’s child is so nice and likes to play –
Saturday’s child is true and won’t betray –
And the child born on Sunday, so happy, –
Is an angel with a great personality. –
I wrote this with my girls (7 and 9), and they had a lot of fun. I just love writing things with them, it always captures that childlike spirit of fun that just makes me smile.
Day 33, a review:

Without it, I sit,
And if I'm bored, then I sleep.

With it, I am up:
I look with wide open eyes,
Eyes that see the world
And all I could be doing.
I step with purpose,
Standing tall and confident.
I wake, take the pill,
Eat my food, drink my coffee,
And drive off to work
With an automatic smile,
And I sing along
To the songs I know by heart.
Without it, I sit,
And if I must stand, I lean;
Dragging tired feet,
Holding a troubled tummy,
And wishing I'd wake.

In the end, on these days off,
I find energy:
I discover the reserves
Of serotonin,
Dopamine and endorphins
That my body saved,
Keeping stored for "the future."
My brain slowly learns,
And the fuel to keep going
Isn't out of reach.
So on these days off,
I won't despair or decay.
I used to collapse,
Before I knew my full strength
And what it felt like
To set my mind and finish.
So help me today,
God, let this Adderall work
To give energy
And to strengthen my body
For this scary four-mile hike.
  

~didn't get my refill before leaving for vacation~
All those books they made us read,
The smelly yellow-pagers
That weighed as heavy as the guilt
We felt as "zombie teenagers";

Do we remember anything?
The names of the main characters,
Or maybe, who died in the end--
Or the ones who were in pictures?

It wasn't that we hated books--
We didn't understand them;
Before the teacher's spiritless voice
Made us slowly condemn them.

"Memorize the vocab words,
And don't forget the spelling!"
Was that the point of literature?
But definitions aren't compelling.

So all those hours in English Lit,
The days spent reading Steinbeck,
Were soured by the grouchy face
Always looming over my desk.

I always wished someone would say,
"This isn't boring, here's why:"
But I was told to shut up and read
When sometimes I wanted to cry:

"I hate this story! Nobody's happy!
And everyone's messed up!
It doesn't make sense to force it on us
When we're already stressed out."

But we had to read it, because they had to read it
When they were young in school.
This book had an impact in history:
So now, reading it is a rule.

So if it's a must, that's fine, then.
But...why don't we make it fun?
Or talk about the psychology
And learn something when we're done?

A book can't be everyone's favorite.
We're all different people inside.
But please try to make us all interested
With wisdom only you can provide.
Steinbeck, Dickens, Orwell, Bronte, Fitzgerald, all those depressing writers that we were forced to read. I only liked Edgar Allen Poe, and that's saying something!
Job
The day begins before it should,
and every minute is squandered,
before I jump into the car,
spilling hot coffee in my haste.

Then the rushing wind blows past me,
running through my hair in the dark;
headlights keep up with the sharp turns,
and the thumping stereo lifts me.

Parking, on time, walking briskly
to ensure the grandest entrance
to give a formal impression.
My echoed greeting meets my ears.

Hello, goodbye, I take over,
holding my vigilant station
as I toast bagels with butter
and wait for them to call me up.

"Ashley!" comes the petulant cry
and I manage to answer her.
"Coming!" And I take a slow sip
before heading up creaky stairs.

They want me to pick out their clothes.
They want me to help them get dressed.
I say, "You can do that yourself,
I'm here to do hard things, like cook."

Teasing, admonishing, waiting
for children to do what I asked;
I take one more sip of coffee
and the cup is gone far too soon.

Soon, they are eating their breakfast,
and I'm prepping backpacks and coats.
Something spills, and I clean it up;
then she says she forgot her shoes.

I tell her sister to get them,
but she won't go up there alone.
So we three climb the creaky stairs,
and come back with their socks and shoes.

We run out the door, lock the garage,
and jump in my car for a ride.
"Seatbelts?" I ask before leaving,
and they both ask me for tic-tacs.

A minute away, and I park.
They jump out and both wave goodbye.
I smile and wait for the school bus.
I drive to my next job, next door.
Work as a nanny, it's not for everyone, but I love my girls.
Cry
Frick.


Don't feel bad for yourself.
You have it so good.
You have a house
to live in
You have clothes to wear
You have
a family
who loves you.

You have a boyfriend
who wants to spend the rest of his life with you.
Everything is going to be okay.


Bad things suck.
Good things are hard.
Life takes a long time to get right.
Goodnight my darling,
sleep until the morning comes
and wakes you with its gentle finger
of sunlight, shining on your pillow.
Sleep until the clouds break the dawn
and steal away the night
from under the moon.
Sleep until the day is bright
and the time is right
and your eyes open wide.
Sleep tight. <3
Ashley Somebody Oct 2017
Surely my life's work
Will be worth as much to them
As it is to me,
Waiting for sales to show here
To feed my music budget.
I've published a book. http://www.lulu.com/shop/ashley-spence/poetry-volume-i/ebook/product-23389434.html
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