Bus Driver (Poem)

Sometimes, I feel like a bus driver
I picked up grief a year ago
I am passing all these exits
And He won’t fricking get off
I think he may have fallen asleep
Got comfortable and decided to stick around
He keeps hogging all the seats
Other passengers are getting pissed off
Every night, when the bus closes down
It’s the same old story
I ask him to get off the bus, and he insists he has nowhere to go
I invite him into my home
Instead of sleeping on my couch
He slithers into my bed when I am already sleeping
I wake up covered in tears and wondering where he went
I wake the next morning, I no longer feel rested
I take my position back on the bus, and he makes himself comfortable again
I look at God and hiss out
“Where am I supposed to put him?”
Most days, I feel like I don’t get much of a response
On the days he does respond
It’s soft and loving
He replies, “At my feet”