Two people in a room
Are praising my character
Output is a funny thing
Accolades for proficient production
Never pierce interior walls
It's easy to acquire compliments
Meant to acknowledge
Diligent attention
And hard work
Simply a social convention
From which
Elegant manners spring
I have been
In service to others
My entire life
Exchanging time and sweat
Creative energy
For concrete resources
Sustaining my family
And filling my belly
Is what I do
The sum of
Who I am
This afternoon
An electrician and a contractor
Stood in my basement
Assessing considerable damage
Making lists, tallying costs
By chance, I overheard them speak
From the eternal fountain
Of true human kindness
Lauding my loving nature
No gain to be had
For saying nice things
To be admired
For who I am
Beyond what I do
Is a gift without measure
Never to be
Taken for granted
With care, I nestled
Their appraising grace
Within my sacred chambers
To carry it with me
Always
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Comments (6)
Your poem feels like a quiet reflection on the noise we absorb daily — how the world’s chaos filters into our minds and hearts. 'Input' speaks to the silent overwhelm, the craving for stillness in a world that never stops. Beautifully introspective and deeply relatable.🖤🔊🧠
We often wear our worth like overalls—practical, worn, sometimes unnoticed. But when someone sees us, not the tasks, not the sweat… just us? That’s soul fuel. Keep that tucked close. You earned it, not through effort but through essence. 😊
Being unused to kindness and compliments really does make the moments when we receive them a little confounding, and then we store it away like squirrels. Of course you deserve all the compliments, Marie. The fact those two talked highly of you is showing of your great character! 💛 I'm guessing they're in the basement to fix the crack that appeared the other day? (lol, sorry. Just curious)
True human kindness ❤️
Awww, that would have been such a wonderful feeling. Loved your poem!
We must be true to self. No joy like it.