Watching a football game that I don’t really care about. Toggling the news channel. The world’s a mess, but keep hope alive. I can hear the water turned on and off in the apartment next door. A dog barks across the way. The city is waiting for the storm to drop. My stomach gurgles. I feel content.
Write a brave poem, my mind says to my shrinking self, who just wants to take a nap. Okay, okay, what is brave and what is not? Let’s discuss.
I’m going to start writing my truth, though I hardly know it, can barely look it in the eye, though I’m terrified of what it will reveal.