Poetry

Inspiration strikes.

Creativity explodes.

Chaos ensues.

Drudgery begins

when the inspiration

was someone else’s idea.

From one bright idea to another.

Life is full of surprises.

Especially when you discover

you have no light to see them by!

Overripe smells

emanate from under the shoulders.

Bathing would feel so good.

Except I turned on the dishwasher

and so have a conundrum.

Do I take a shower with intermittent hot/cold spurts

or can I withstand the stench

until it is my turn to bathe?

Curtains closed.

Doors shut tight.

Spring may be out there

but so are other people’s children.

Their taunting laughter

hurts my pounding head.

Word?

Mania?

What should I say?

Supercallafragalaicious

Um, yeah.

Memory problems

Are usually laughed about.

Did I remember to turn off the oven?

The door was locked right?

Do you have your wallet?

So let me ask you something.

Can you remember who I am?

Creativity.

It is good for the soul.

Joy is found in the little things.

Details only matter

if you choose to let them.

Perfection is not everything.

The finished work

is always beautiful.

If I could write a book

it would mean I believed in myself.

If I could write a nook

it would show those who had no faith in me.

If I could write a book

it would mean I did what I dreamed of.

If I could write a book

I would be happy.

If I could write a book

and people liked it

is something I still dream of.

Only a series of hours.

Sleep.

Tossing and turning.

Missing them.

Wishing I could have brought them with me.

Happy to be home.

Cuddles amid the purrs.

Glad to hear their meows.

Reality crashes through

the expectations

or more realistically

the estimated results desired.

Time flies by quicker

and you are forced to realize

what you hoped for

is probably just

an overly optimistic wish.