Intensity drops in,
early, before I have a chance
to set the day in order –
puts me on the defensive.
She clings, encourages me
to hold on, her sick creativity
awake with impulsivity –
I am ailing, loyal, compelled
to launder the linens,
desperately trying to find corners
in the circular fitted sheet –
dependent on daily chores.
She wants to talk about feelings –
but I am still numbed from sleep,
from this never-ending illness,
from this perfectionist drive for optimism.
She wants to embrace, hug me
into submission, lecture me on the benefits
of organics and loose-leaf teas, and I am
too busy avoiding her to be grateful.
(My chosen prompt for today’s challenge is “circles can’t have corners”)