sometimes i am my own worst enemy, sometimes not

i’m the one who imposes the undue pressure. i am my own worst enemy. i had a major anxiety attack today. there’s no other way to describe it except to say that i shut down in a way. i knew something was wrong early in the day. it was akin to a mini stroke. i could not make a decision and i had an overwhelming desire to run away and escape everything that was going on around me. i ended up writing at Panera Bread restaurant, my usual haunt on Tuesday afternoons.

Here is an excerpt from what i wrote earlier today:

“I wish i knew what was wrong with me today. is it that i had the responsibility of burying a life-long friend today. a soul who watched over my house, purred upon my return and curled up in the scoop valley between my rib cage and my hip whenever i reclined on my sofa to watch television. …Or is it that I’m distracted because of the shear absolute beauty of the day…”

Neither of these things were the culprit. i made a mistake on my job, sent out mis-information in an e-mail, and it had the power to throw me entirely off course for the remainder of the day. part of the problem rested with me. i was unwilling to apologize for having made the faux pas in the first place, and i have no idea why apologizing and eating a little crow was so difficult.

but it was/is. which makes me believe i have made little progress toward being free.  i want my freedom.

I did not blog or write a piece for April 26th, but I offer this ode to Ms. Kitty:

i will bury a friend tomorrow
warm and furry and fun companion
she was not unlike my other friends
in some ways
she never demanded anything more from me
than affection and obedience
but her method of getting her way
is the stuff legends are made of

her favorite place, beside my heart
was the scoop valley between my
rib cage and my hip when i
lay on my side watching tv or
reading a book or catching a
nap

she slept there too, some times
too stubborn or too drowsy to move
i could never tell which
she was 25 years old when
she died. she didn’t want to play much
toward the end of her life, and
she became obsessive about her food
and when and how she ate

i felt the same way; we shared that
i miss her now. i will bury my old friend
tomorrow
in a little grave behind the shed
near the patch of day lillies i transplanted
two years ago
may she rest in peace having served well

Then i also wrote this during my creative time today in continuous celebration of National Poetry Month for April 27th (although now it is after midnight):

How Poems Are Born

born
on the heartbeat of a poet
living
in the space of the thump thump
the seat of love
if finds the place of pain
it finds the place of grief
it finds the place of job
it finds its place

conceived
in the distracted life moments
of a poet, while their mind is elsewhere
only the pen is certain
which way is home

living
in the reflections of
the light at day’s end
comforts the weary word traveler
and his baggage
the poem

birthed
in the place of pain, grief and joy
rests in the seat of love
at last

Until tomorrow…

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