Lately, when I begin to spiral,
I’ve been singing out loud to myself
to disrupt the pattern.
Everyone thinks it’s charming
how much I’ve been singing lately.
I used to bite my fingernails
down to the nub.
I hid my nubs with shame.
Now, I let them grow long,
and when life gets too much,
I carefully chomp down
on my left hand only,
and call it self-improvement.
I’ve never managed to fold my laundry
before it found its way to a pile in the corner.
Now, with a Buddhist’s unshakable acceptance:
I am one with the creases.
I do not fold, but simply shove
my wrinkled garments into assigned drawers.
The pile — no longer.
The moths — charmed, I’m sure.