I on
repeat
I spend
a lifetime searching for the imperfect perfect muse.
I treasure
everything as if each something I’m fated to lose.
I consume
as if this could be my final meal.
I am oblivious
to the agenda behind any deal.
I sleep
as if sleeping is an Olympic sport.
I pay all
the bills, secure my space in my living fort.
I read
with a microscope digging for inspiration.
I walk
in fine rain feeling a washed-in elation.
I turn
up early as if it will make a difference.
I cry at
every ending and then hope to bounce.
I read menus
a dozen times before choosing.
I hold
on too long because I’m too scared of losing.
I worry I
might regret choosing the wrong thing.
I greet
everyone with the same shy, lopsided grin.
I end up
picking the same thing every time I order.
I live
in uncluttered spaces, try not to be a hoarder.
I pluck
stray hairs as if anyone notices anything so small.
I live
it, love it, want it to last forever, but forget it all.
I collect
empty boxes because oxygen is the most precious thing.
I buy
simple things, avoiding the loud, too glossy and bling.
I breathe
deeply, inhale slowly, blink three times for luck.
I wish I
could relive every earthmoving, heartbreaking f-ck.
I sit in
the shade in case the sun burns away truth.
I rethink,
re-evaluate seeking the undeniable proof.
I colour
outside the edges to feel more free.
I wonder
at our struggle to be what we want to be.
I count
the stars just because it’s impossible.
I know
my failure to make time last is laughable.
I rule
the 3mm space around my own contours.
I learn
from closure and look out for held-open doors.
I bed
down to keep the chaos and noise at bay.
I listen
to silence because it has the most to say.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, July 14, 2026
