In Attempt to Meditate

I tell the synapses

Of every cell to turn off

Its receptors

To heed not outside stimuli

To focus instead

On the hell in my head

The heat of the sun that makes me itch

My crooked spine that hurts all the time

Nothing of consequence

It’s all in my mind

 

I must focus instead

On the gentle breeze

As it weaves through the yet-leafless tress

Caresses my face and whispers in my ear

As a once beloved elder whispers, “I’m here…”

 

I must focus on who I am

And in what direction I’m going

To succumb to failure hurts

But it’s harder than not knowing

What it is you’re fighting for

 

I must focus on the symphony of honesty

Sung by the birds

And I must purge the worst in me

The things that are hurting me

I must have some kind of certainty

Graced in shadows but cursed to see

The world from my perspective

Distorted and defective