Bless this Mess
I cry a little every day these days
but laugh and smile
and get angry and mindful too.
So tired and so wired
at the same time.
Everything is so bright
and clear but my eyes are blurry.
There are piles on my desk
and the dining room table and living room
and it is overwhelming
in the simplicity of its corrections
and my vulnerability and strength
has never been as intense as it is these days.
I die a little every day
and live, holding fast
and love and hate with equal passion
and I have never been so well and hurt so bad
all at the same time.
My fingers can’t keep up with the flow of words
and my aching hand begs to stop writing.
But there are books to be finished
and stories to unfold
and art to be completed
and daughters to be fed
and cords to be found
and I stop to remember to breathe
and figure out how to do this all.
While scarabs crawl over dreams
and the swamp rises
and glowing ember mosquitos burning bite my ankles
and the bottle siren sings to dull a mind
that does not want to be tamed.
I try a little in every way
to stand tall and move slow
and corral in unison
the thunder hooves of voices
inside this skull
and I am grateful for this curse and
count blessings in these lessons
fearfully, tearfully, thankful
for every single crack
in this beautiful foundation.
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