I get up and fight
for autonomy,
for a quiet space that’s mine,
where nothing but words and ideas
can visit.

No television.
No demands.
Not going to happen.

So, I fight daily battles
for moments of my own,
include thinking time on my too-long to-do list,
shut myself in the room of my mind
where the door never quit latches,
where the outside world always sneaks in
and waits at my feet.

In those precious snatches,
I lay my sword on the table,
breathe in the almost silence,
gather my skittish thoughts in a pen
or a Word file.

Some days I win, knowing
tomorrow I’ll get up
and do battle again.