I live my life through the words I write
If she can work part time
in a store
to pay the bills
and devote her afternoons
to writing her novel,
owning her dream to be a novelist
and tell world
she is a writer
then
I can work my part time job
to pay the bills
and devote my non-work time
to writing my novel
owning my dream of being a novelist
and tell the world
I am a writer.
I can do it, too.
Back home
to reality
of the daily routine
mundane in comparison
to protected time in a bubble, for sport.
Back to the dishes piled high in the sink,
dust settled on the furniture,
the pen and paper on the kitchen counter
picked up every now and then
to note another to-do
not to be forgotten.
Back to the commitment
of, every day,
working to better myself,
carving away more marble from the sculpture
of the life I want to live,
bringing it into the light.
Sweat dripping down my forehead,
gathering underneath my eyes and down my neck,
spreading out and over my arms
like water spilled from a glass
reaching out across the floor.
Thoughts of hot, running water and soap
traveling over my body
fill my mind through a vinyasa,
though I’m supposed to be focused on my breath.
Slowing down my breath and body
into the stillness of shavasana,
I rest in the final resting pose,
resting.
I roll over to the right side and push myself upright
to find my skin dry, the sweat evaporated,
leaving my skin with an energetic film
reminding me of the work I have done
for me.
I’ll keep it on my skin a while longer.
My world has been turned
upside down because of you,
when you first entered it
and now, as you’re leaving.
I feel the ground crumble beneath my feet,
what I believed to be long-lasting
is not.
People come and people go,
including you.
I will join you in your excitement
and hold no resentment,
but this place will not be the same without you.
I will find a new way forward
though I don’t want to.
Dawning Words 