Artistry

In the Simplicity of These Days it is born:

The Truth of why every morning there is

Tension in your hands, in the

Creases of your mouth while you take

Every bite-

Why the

Anger spills and the

People come out of the nooks and

Closets in your brain and shout

I’m Here! I’m still Here!

Why am I still Here?

It’s in the Truth of your

Uneven fingernails and the

Vigor that causes headaches

Because

Isn’t its job done yet?

It didn’t sign up for overtime and

It knows how the

Gears turn-

How the sun sets and rises and

How two Things sleep right next to each other in

The same bed

Sharing cells and skin and

Hallways and yet they are

Different-

And of every mote of dust in the

Morning Beam,

I am the biggest-

With the biggest Job and the

Biggest Happiness.

Reviews

[Shonte']

You've brought a certain authenticity and spin to this poem, meaning that I love your description and word choices here. Instead of going for every day, cliché phrases, you have managed to tell us about someone, whom I interpret as struggling with some sort of inward battle? Perhaps my assumptions are wrong but, either way, this is an awesome piece of writing!