Scraped shins and chagrin always shared their names.
To feel pain and peace never made any sense
Cause I’d never ignored at the other’s expense.
But I knew what I stepped into the moment I did know,
The bubbles of intent actualized Pro Quid Quo.
The identity scaffolding I’ve built has been crushed under lump snow,
The ritual had been broken by millions of teeming snowflakes
And a fresh pocketful of sunshine when there’s no sun to spread.
I need to continue meditating, breathing, loving, and healing,
But the systems against them are so damn appealing.
Here I am, starry-eyed and unable to tell you what today is
(Other than A Hell of a Day)
I’ve got homework to do, further writing to be demonstrated,
I’ve gotta read like a motherfucker and keep my aspirations close.
Cause it IS the last day of the weekend,
It’s in order to propel my creator self towards the sky
And continue to fight the fight and realize the glow up.
My psyche’s taken a vacation from the rigid structure of ambitious perfection,
But the breaths I’ve taken in between sprints have been pretty damn sweet.