I chatter at it and
Batter at it and
still it is not fixed.
The ages old self-diatribe
I am not enough, I am not enough
I tell everyone, I’m OK, I’m fine
But in my mind there’s a line
And I’m on the wrong side.
The impossibility of moving on
Tethered to a ghost.
I trust no one, even myself
And so I remain lost
I crave the ease
The easy squeeze
that will fill my future full
Of gratitude and tenderness
of purposed hours filled.
I write at night
with all my sight
that I might
win this fight.
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I’ve been engaging in some troublesome thoughts myself. Today, let’s take good care of ourselves — healthy food, some exercise, healthy thoughts. Love your poem.