Author of Two Amazon #1 Best Selling Cookbooks

Fog, Wall, Monday

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May 14, 2012 poetry , , , , , 0 Comments

Mondays descend on me leaden heavy. The time returns to keep track of myself, or at least
try to.

The weekends are the reprieve, there is company constantly.
I know I am difficult, regardless of how I try to not be: difficult to communicate with:
Not understanding, not understood.
In the moments when I manage to be fully present, I wonder what it is like
to have chosen someone so different
From the one you chose.

I am trying so hard to heal.
I am trying to not fight my body, I am trying to not wage war with
this unending pain, this deafening confusion.
I am trying to believe, and to feel, that I will be fine.
I am trying to be grateful that I am alive, that at least most of our family survived this.
I keep thanking my elbows, the only joints that do not feel like they are being pulled away from me
by some unknown evil force.
I keep begging every other joint to take heed.
I keep begging my head to just stop aching.
I am trying to find the lesson, the message.
I am trying so hard to heal.

There is no question that I believe in positivity.
There is no question that I have healed before, and damn well at that.
I don’t know why this is so much harder;
I just know that most of the time now,
I do not know much of what I knew before.
I exist in a hazy tunnel with walls made of fog,
and every time I awake from a daydream
I cannot recall a single thought of it.

Mondays descend on me leaden heavy.
I am off to be encapsulated in oxygen.
I am off to try again.


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