#NaPoWriMo Day 5
Challenge: Write a poem in which you talk about disliking something – particularly something utterly innocuous, like clover.

Its glow steals the soft peach of the dark and swaps it for a cold, plastic white.

My night light is not a guide; it’s a witness to the fact that I’m still awake.

That little oval eye just stares.

No blinking, no mercy, just piercing straight through my lids until I can feel the throb in my bones and the weight of every muscle.

I glare at it, and it glares right back,  that evil reminder of my sleepless state.