Untitled, I am simply me
to walk around and sketch the day
as I please. Or that’s what you might expect
if you spy me from a distance,
the woman who can take her time doing this and that,
including moulding time itself into whatever shape she likes.
Underneath the glass, however,
I have a structure that demands I do something deemed as an achievement
each day, and my body won’t let me rest
nor will my mind,
and in those rare times when I beat it back
guilt wraps its fingers around my heart and squeezes
until the enjoyment of whatever I’m doing for fun
turns dull and grey, as ash in my mouth.
Treeshallow Musings 