Counterproduction

I’ve got to get it in my head

that I can’t win a game of chicken

against myself.

It’s my cross to bear,

the sin of pride,

the bliss of ignorance.

I can handle it,

I can handle it.

The worst lies

are the ones you tell yourself —

the most convincing are

the ones by omission.

The writing on the wall,

is of no concern to me—

I painted myself into a corner,

but I’ll make it out,

I don’t need directions.

One step forward,

one step forward.

Please disregard the footprints.

I’d love to conquer myself,

but that guy’s a pretty good boxer.

I’ve got to get it in my head,

that I don’t need to be

my own worst enemy.

Flip Book

It was a bad time

to reflect

on what I should have written,

on the world’s last stack of sticky notes.

I ran my thumb over it,

to breathe life,

into my work.

Poorly-drawn, simplistic figures

walked to and fro,

and told each other

sophomoric jokes

until the cardboard showed.

“I could have mapped-out

my every action

months in advance,

or remembered to put on pants,

instead of making stick figures dance.”

I closed the flip book,

and rest it face-down on my desk

ashamed.

It’s all fun and games,

until fun and games interfere

with your daily life.

Needing a chuckle,

I opened it again

to repeat the cartoon anew.

Time well-spent, I say.