Trusting my instinct
feeling its needs
to myself.

My body
attempting to add it all up
hoping I am not wrong
trusting in myself
doubtful all the time.

Confident but shaken
in charge
but just a messenger
feeding information
to white coats
who like to question me
but hardly themselves.

My body, my temple
my shelter, my harbor
abused and admired
pampered and neglected.

When it works well
taken for granted
when it acts up
not taken seriously.

Like a well-oiled machine
expected to never stop performing
a few hiccups
perhaps a few new parts
but not too many
or we start complaining.

I did too
now I listen

(The Happy Quitter)

16 thoughts on “Listen…

  1. You have so many talents. First the photo on the prior post and now this poem. Hang in there, Bridget, like that woodpecker(?) appears to be doing on that tree.


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