A soft, cool breeze flutters through my window
I need to wash my messy hair, but I don’t want to–
Slashing words and feelings like there’s no tomorrow
In order to find balance and dissolve a sorrow–
There’s clothes to be washed and beds to be made
Though I could literally sleep all freakin day–
But then I would miss the spirit, the miracle, the beautiful sway
The current, the electricity from completing the mundane–
So, here I make a contract within my poetry, within my words
That this day will be blessed, not awkward or absurd–
As my newborn eyes always thought life to be
It is now that I know about its gifts and endless possibilities–