I haven’t written a poem in over a year. I think it’s been a year…I haven’t checked.
It’s weird. I won’t pretend it’s not. Poetry crept up on me, like other parts of my life, but I supposed it also slipped away.
It slipped away because I begged it to. There are only so many hours in the day, week, month–decade. Choosing wisely can make or break everything (me). Before I lumped it all together.
“They” did it like. Those. Them, the people who were’t me. Those who will never be.
I can’t be like that–like them.
It’s one malfunction after the other, until I found my footing. The “my” and “me” that fit my life. Less is more. Flexibility and patience. Slow and steady–all the good ones.
The prescription for me is:
Multitasking works with dinner prep and homework, but not with words.
Is that how it is for you?