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 the 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.
(Originally written in 2018, and edited here. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 