Muddy Days

When I am in a pond of mud

every step is slow, and dragging, and sloppy,

and I can see the shore,

where steady ground starts,

but it seems so far away.

And each step is so… slow,

and dragging,

and sloppy.

Sip a tea that is comforting,

a step.

Take the pills on time,

a step.

Decide what to eat,

a step.

Eat it,

a step.

Sit outside to feel the air, hot or cold,

a step.

Real talk with a beloved,

a step.

Write a poem that no one will come to know,

a step.

When I am on steady ground

all these steps come so effortlessly,

I can dance my way through them.

But when I am in a lake of mud

and each step is so slow, and dragging, and sloppy,

when my muscles burn,

and my mind aches behind my eyes,

I am so exhausted.