Most Days

Most days,

I have no idea what I’m doing

Most days,

I just keep going

knowing things will happen

if I keep myself in line

if I follow the plan

Most days, I forget

that the best pieces of me came

when I was flying blind

when I dove, head first, into the oblivion

and landed somewhere new

somewhere foreign

with no plan in sight

and I made it work

Some days, the words just come

and they’re true and better than windy waves on an Ontario beach

Some days, my pen has no plan

and my heart speaks plainly enough for my brain to understand the words

Some days, I remember

I’ve built myself anew

more than once

maybe I can survive

one more time

into the oblivion


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