It would be easy to stay in bed,
to sleep, half unsettled,
flitting in and out of the the dreams
that haunt you.
It is an easy day. No appointments.
You could pretend to be ill.
No one would notice.
No one would care.
You could pretend.
But with a deep breath, you roll over.
You put your feet on the ground.
You take the first step, a bad taste in your mouth.
A bad taste in your mind.
If you are going to pretend, damn it,
You are going to pretend to be good.
Powerful. Strong. Happy.
About this poem
Yes, preachers cuss. Determined ones do, any way.
Rough start to the day. No big deal. The big deal is going anyway. Day after day. A song, not of sorrow, but joy in determination.