don't worry what day it is
or how many weeks it's been since you've written something good.
don't count the pounds you haven't gained or lost
or the books you haven't read or the New Yorkers
gathering dust on the night table.
don't think about what you would look like with better hair
or fewer blemishes or polished nails or nicer clothes.
don't muse about the days when all you needed
was a bed and a desk and a toothbrush.
don't worry anymore about the lovers you left
and the stories you might have ended
and the memories you might have soiled with
your fanatical, unkempt heart.
don't dismember the choices you made,
the decisions you sealed shut with your
determination, your obstinate yesses and no's.
don't take back what you said.
don't keep what you don't need.
don't heap upon your already sore back
any more of your punishing criticisms.
try something else.
try limiting caffeine intake to one really good latte.
try to mediate
and if you don't meditate,
try screaming in your car
in the thick of the late-afternoon bottleneck.
try to apologize simply by apologizing.
take out the trash with the recycling.
devote five whole minutes to the dog.
lavish your toast with butter.
indulge your hunger.
admire your capacity to ask for directions.
believe in the wisdom of rain.
open your mouth to the kiss
that has been waiting for you all along.