ANTICIPATION

Morning.
Anticipation.
And I'm not perfect.
I want to feel that shiny self
who just emerged from shower,
makeup freshly applied
seductive eyes
the pleasurable power
of myself at my best.
But a virus has intervened,
infecting my plans with its own designs.
I am groggy from medicine,
weakened from fighting,
surely not the self
I'd like to be.
But life has its lessons.
Each stumble a reason.
I try to see this not as a misstep,
not a mishap,
not a devilish plot to make me fall.
Perhaps this is the day
he's meant to see me
not the self I'd like to always be
but the me I live with every day,
and hope he'll like me this way.
Morning.
Anticipation.
I resolve for acceptance.


© Ellen Azorin