Luverly Lassitude

Last night, I slept with the window open. Fantastic. Spring has truly arrived. I woke up this morning at 6:30, and hit snooze as per usual, but instead of fully resuming unconsciousness I lay half-awake, breathing in the fresh air, hearing the bird song, and seeing the beginnings of the sunrise. Happy Friday. Oh, happy Friday indeed.
Today would be a good day to be a lanscaper or mailman or anything that took me outside. Instead I sit at a desk in an office that admirably has a door, but no windows. Ah, well. If I did have a window I assuredly wouldn't get as much work done. And if I were a mailman, winter would be much less pleasant. Give and take.

ps: the small bunch of daffodils in my yard have bloomed as of yesterday. Sweet yellow goodness.

ode to spring

Here I stand,
breakable.
Alive. Incomplete.
Hopeful.
Easily amused.

the honesty dance

Wanting to believe I am beautiful, managing it
some days—parts of days—struggling to hold on.
Struggling to be beautiful all the way through.
Wanting to always know that I am beloved,
cherished, magnificent, sexy. Failing to
eradicate the doubt. Failing to quite
erase the images of “more prettier” people
from my head. Failing to quite
manage to love my nose. Failing to
surrender vanity.

Failing, struggling, wanting.
Believing that all three of these
will someday cease. Clinging to
that. Clinging to faith. Living for the
moments—hours—half-days—nights
when I do not feel broken.

Let go let go let go.

The sweet soul ache for another. The pitifully small
trust that all things happen in God’s time. The fierce
independence and resolution to tackle
everything with bared hands and no excuses.
The lazy hours of longing. The belief that no one could
ever love me as you can, Lord.
The shame of my own imperfect passion.

I almost wish that I would
stop being moved by music.
It does me no good, stirring my heart like that. Making me
think of poetically melancholy things and dreams
worthy of a teenage-level crush.

And yet…
I stumble. I stumble. I dance.