Nothing needs reexamining as much as a routine
for its continued use with impunity.
What habit wasn’t coddled within an instant of its perceived convenience?
I habitually tell myself a million untrue things as easily as taking in air
just to corroborate what I haven’t accomplished. To others, I appear
to be a working model of low-slung aspirations. To myself, I appear
an increasingly fuzzy picture that I need to compare with a much older
image in order to recognize.
Habits are a slow possession over the better, stronger choices –
the turtle in the warm pot of water.
How do I stop hobbling myself? Out of habit?
Would we garner so many if they were password-protected?
Holy crap can I ever relate to this poem as I find myself struggling with the same thing! Lots of amazing imagery here and ridiculously relatable. Both good and bad habits can make or break someone and sometimes (like me and my smoking) cause one to make excuses for habitual actions. Makes me wonder about the last line in this piece, the password protected and it’s a brilliant ending to this poem.
Thank you, jvstanley. I appreciate your reading. It’s a rainy day here, and I’ve been doing everything BUT the thing that makes the most sense doing!