The days we try to do what we do but it is hard, chunky, clunky even when balancing on muscle memory movements jerk and it still doesn't work-right-when writing is what you do but all those right words ellude, what to do with all that art that wont quit and just comes out like shit-
The forcible pushing through comes out labored and premature needing ICU(s), but tagged as terminal, I've flatlined-you knew it. You saw the trap and said nothing.
I got caught in all those corners where I am cowering from looking around for the little door, the way in, regretting all of the digging and the hole I burrowed myself in, eating dirt, thinking of Alice, and knowing a white apron and patience is all I will need in Wonderland.
Image by Conrad Poirier [Public domain or Public domain], Cooking Class at YWCA c. 1939, via Wikimedia Commons.
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