Running around all day, doing things for others, and little for you is just how it works in my routine. You’re supposed to feel good about the giving, but if I may be honest, I feel sad when there’s no getting. We all have our issues, right?
Have you ever just sat and observed someone? That’s also part of my routine. And no one likes to talk about how difficult it is. About the getting up to help, finding time to eat, being polite in their homes, and knowing you’ll have to do it all over again the next day.
There are some things about you that frustrate me. I can’t help but look at you; it’s just what I do. So, while I’m here in Balasana, I’ll have to get it off my chest:
Restless fingers tap away, and my eyes shift at every tick of the tock.
My sweat drops bombs. I need you to lick me clean. Make me smooth again.
I stare at the flushed rosé of my hands. I scrub because I’m dirty, and lather to the bone.
Shuffled paper, shuffled thoughts, my mind needs organizing.
Jitter-jock knees, I can’t sit still. It’s cold and you won’t hold me.
The radio said it’s a stigma; you’re not okay when you’re depressed.
Let’s not be okay together, and watch each other drowning in shall doubt.
Those coffee rings were keys to her success. Where’s she off to next? She didn’t even leave a tip.
You’ think those trinkets make you better, but you’re uninformed.
I think being informed makes me better, but I’m not.
I’ve been in this position for some time now, and stretching through these thoughts is relieving. I rest my knees wide, with my chest above my thighs. There’s tenderness in my back, and the vulnerability travels through my arms. I’m reaching far and wide for the renewal.
As my head is bowed, I give praise to myself, and to these thoughts. It’s the expression that makes them all right. I can now enjoy feelings of reflective breath instead. I continue to stare a long gaze beneath me, and can see within myself. When the time comes, I will push off at this new starting point. With my hips thrust back, and a bend of momentum, I’m renewed, and ready to try again.
About the author: Monique M. Luna is a UCLA graduate, and currently resides in Los Angeles, CA. Her love for writing stems from a never-ending curiosity, and means of merging facts with fantasy. In her daily routine she provides ABA services to clients and families with Autism. Whether in-home, or on site, she uses these experiences to grow and evolve as a writer. She hopes that through her work and writing you are challenged to question, reflect, and accept with love, and open minds.