*Caution: Colourful language ahead*
It began with a horrible nights sleep.
My son’s last calcified nugget of horror is ripping through his gums.
The seemingly adorable kittens perpetually scratched and meowed.
Until everyone woke up.
I tried to remedy.
To catch some blissful zzz’s on the couch.
But the screaming and yelling had already pierced the air.
I broke up a million fights before sunrise.
I cleaned up cat poo off the floor.
I vacuumed around the litter box.
The kittens fling it around like it’s fucking confetti.
I listened to my daughter incessantly whine about making heart shaped waffles. …
I don’t know how it happened.
When I was younger I used to hate running — hate with a capital H. I would often endure only 30 seconds of the mandatory task before a mind-bending cramp would wreck havoc in my side.
In elementary school, I remember dreading the infamous track and field day. For some bizarre reason, I would always sign up for the 100m sprint, as if there was no lesser evil to choose from. And without fail, I always came in last — my schoolmates on the bleachers getting a front-row seat to my demise.
But somewhere along the way, my relationship with running changed. …
Within the flaws
Of an ordinary day
It sets sail
On the waves
Of the wind
On a dancing breeze
And joy and pain
And finally free
It calms the noise
And as you relax
Within the space between
For a moment