Bless this Mess

I cry a little every day these days

but laugh and smile

and get angry and mindful too.

So tired and so wired

at the same time.

Everything is so bright

and clear but my eyes are blurry.

There are piles on my desk

and the dining room table and living room

and it is overwhelming

in the simplicity of its corrections

and my vulnerability and strength

has never been as intense as it is these days.

I die a little every day

and live, holding fast

and love and hate with equal passion

and I have never been so well and hurt so bad

all at the same time.

My fingers can’t keep up with the flow of words

and my aching hand begs to stop writing.

But there are books to be finished

and stories to unfold

and art to be completed

and daughters to be fed

and cords to be found

and I stop to remember to breathe

and figure out how to do this all.

While scarabs crawl over dreams

and the swamp rises

and glowing ember mosquitos burning bite my ankles

and the bottle siren sings to dull a mind

that does not want to be tamed.

I try a little in every way

to stand tall and move slow

and corral in unison

the thunder hooves of voices

inside this skull

and I am grateful for this curse and

count blessings in these lessons

fearfully, tearfully, thankful

for every single crack

in this beautiful foundation.