I have no poems.
No song in my heart.
My feet do not dance
and the birds sing alone.
there are tasks.
Bills to pay, financial and otherwise.
There are things to move
and things to do
that bring with them, little joy.
Today, there are lies to sort through,
threats to disarm,
there are those who are happy to tell me
in all their (self) righteousness,
of all my flaws,
real and imaginary,
their list long, but shorter still
And so today is an act of war,
and I will gird for battle
with prayers and silly mantras.
I will dance, even with sluggish legs,
simply as an act of defiance.
I will love and rip open my windows
to the cold
and let the light in.
I will declare myself the victor,
pugnaciously polite to every demon I encounter.
I will kill them, one by one,
with sweet persistence.
I will laugh through the wounds,
for healing comes in defiance,
and nowhere else,
and that my friend is how I will start
About this poem.
Ahhhhh. I feel better just having written it.
The picture was taken in Amsterdam.