135/365

the only reason
your pets love you
is because you feed them.
the same can probably
be said about your children.

it takes so much to mask
weakness and doubt
and appear put together
enough for them—
the indiscriminate
burdens you juggle
each day in your mind
feel threatening
in this tempest:

will we go back into lock down?
will the palestinians survive genocide?
is midlife crisis real? is this it?
what’s on the other side?
what’s happening to fred hampton’s revolution?
are the kids getting enough access to nature?
will the raiders defence be good this year?  
do i sound okay on stage?
will i get back into shape?
where did all these insecurities come from?
am i doing enough?
am i enough?

that octopus loved that guy
and he never fed her.

intent is no
substitute for action,
but the love for the world
and everything in it,
includes ourselves,
is a sufficient start.

perhaps
we’re
loved
most
when
we love
most.