Out of my frustration and angst came this poem. I've been really upset for a long time over this, and some really small part of myself finally clicked this morning. A switch was flipped. I think I'm at the very beginning stages of not feeling so bad about my predicament. I still have food in my belly. I still have a roof over my head. I have clothes on my back, and I'm not sleeping in a shack in Uganda. I can be thankful. So... here it is. New poetry.
Love and Lyte,
A prayer, a plea, a promise
to myself and, of course, to the
white milky center of the universe
which giveth and taketh back to the store.
A prayer to pray for blessing and to rid
of worry, to pray for stability and
smiles inside my wallet. For
a bit of joy that money can by - or
at least offset the cost of.
A plea for pity and expedience
for assuredness for the end of waiting
and the beginning of satisfaction.
A knees on the ground, forehead pressed
on wood floor, guttural plea for
A promise to the Great Return Desk
in the sky and to myself - the last one
most of all - that I will not break, but
bend like the reeds of the Nile,
change course like a swan in spring.
A prayer, a plea, a promise for joy
in my belly, stability in my heart,
and warm bliss in my mind - with
fiery spirit to guide and to make the
bending all the more painless.