Everywhere I look I see mess
I see plates of food, listlessly uneaten, ignored, unnurtured.
I see cups, magazines, trash that needs to go out. Tomorrow maybe.
I see toys, pieces of toys, objects not meant for it but used as toys.
I see vacuuming that needs to be done, hear laundry calling from the second floor,
smell the diaper pail, hear the muted crunch of my feet on the dust on the floor instead of that
sweet clean squeek.
Everywhere I turn it faces me, lunges out at me, taunts me.
I will never catch up. I will never be free. I will never be what I was suppose to be.
I breathe in the stale air, shut in by winter's temps.
I breathe in circumstance
I breathe in chaos, imperfection, disappointment, rage,
and I see
that all is how it is
and how it is is how it should be
because nothing matters but the day,
the night, the seconds that pass and change a.m. to p.m.
It's now, here, where I should be,
with all my faults
all my dis-ease
as part of a glowing warmth known as love.
I am an imperfect person.
I am struggling.
I am okay that way.
I am sane.
Say it again so that I can remember.
I am sane.