I based today's poem on the prompt from NaPoWriMo.net, which was to write a poem composed of lies.
Today I am running on time. The air
is toasty warm with summer's balm. I
am so organized it is
awesome. Every person I've ever met, every
significant moment I remember
with clarity. Thanks to smart
financial planning, we have more money
than we could ever hope to spend. On my way
to the gym, every light is green.
As I work out, I am refreshed
and focused. I think
of nothing but where I am,
what I am doing. My son
does not object to running
errands after Story Time,
pulling me into the store
Back home, the cat patiently
awaits his next meal. He is fastidious
about cleaning up every bit of food,
never spilling any into
the bin of books beneath
his radiator. As I write,
my son quietly plays,
my attention. I do not pause
to build a caterpillar puzzle
with him. I do not praise
the small moments, watching
his face as he discovers. I am never
secretly glad for the tiny
imperfections in my life,
which make days more varied,
experiences richer. Why
should I worry about that?
I am perfect.
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