The Season I’m In
I gravitate to what I love each day
The journal, ink, the thoughts I trace.
But leave the hard things on delay,
Till motivation hides its face.
I think I clean, but not as much,
The truth is clear—I hate the chore.
I’m lazy too, and out of touch,
With tidy floors and polished doors.
My running goals, they start to fade,
Is that commitment’s quiet death?
The plans I made now seem to wade
Through sluggish steps and shallow breath.
These facts are hard to look upon,
But paper shows them, raw and real.
Once seen, the veil of self is gone,
The mirror turns, and truths reveal.
Perhaps I’m in a different space,
A season meant for inner view—
To slow, to find my truest place,
To meet myself in shades anew.
To know what drives, what breaks, what builds,
Accepting flaws I used to fear.
To soften edges once so willed,
And hold my strength and silence near.
To push when push is what I need,
And let go when it’s time to rest.
My life is good, my soul is freed,
This present moment’s truly best.
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