Why the emphasis
On what I didn’t get done this week?
As though that was the important part.

Why is the default
to dwell on what could be,
what is,
perceived as failure?
As though failure can be measured by accomplishment
Only if the result has merit from the outside looking in.

Even as my conscious mind determines,
declares that the week
was a failure,
a fizzle,
a flop,
a fiasco of fruitless fecundity,

I say,
fuck you.

There’s just as much that I did,
as didn’t.
And even if I hadn’t,
some weeks are like that.
And yet, no weeks are like that.
Because even when it doesn’t show up as expected
Stuff got done.

The yardstick I use to measure success
Serves no purpose as an implement of suffering.
A slap across the hand as impetus to learn
does not help,
It just suggests that the alternate measure
of perceptible success
Is pain.

I think the reason the registry
of what got done
gets lost in the shuffle
Stems from lack of recognition.

There are so many things of benefit
which are rarely at the top of the to-do list.

Sometimes the decisions made are so infinitesimal,
they don’t even register a blink
if they were made of bone,
they could easily find a home
in my ear.
And once there,
they would whisper to me
that resilience is not being hard,
nor soft, necessarily
but gentle, certainly
and flexible, definitely,
in thought,
in deed,
in self.

Photo by Transly Translation Agency on Unsplash


Cover photo by Pedro Sanz on Unsplash