Sometimes life gets in the way. You don't want it to happen, and you certainly don't ask for it to happen, but it happens all the same. Sort of like pulling an onion ring from a bag of French fries. It can either be a delicious, crisp golden-brown bit of magic in your mouth or a grease-filled, tongue-burning, stomach-wrenching horror.

Between family, a still-not-fully-settled newish home, and a busier-than-ever full-time job, there isn't always time to do everything I'd like. I used to give myself a psychological whipping for not writing. But if the past year has taught me anything, it's acceptance. And you know what?  I'm okay with that.

Back in January, I ran a Facebook contest, giving away copies of moonShine review, 2015 volume 11, issue 2 in exchange for a few words for use as creative starters for poem here on the 'ole blog. One of these words was "trepidation," submitted by Cheryl Bailey. Though it took me a while, read on for the resulting poem.

Home. Comfort. Shelter. Escape.
Escape from reality.
Escape from opinion.
Escape from harsh words
Spoken by those who
Don't understand,
Don't acknowledge,
Don't respect my feelings.
Those who refuse to espouse my rationale.
In work. In human rights. In general.
Trepidation so strong, I fall back to the familiar,
Retreat to my roots, and,
Once safely tucked into my childhood bed,
I crack open my laptop. Log in.
Log in to any outlet, every outlet,
To make my voice heard.
After all, I stand for something.
Fuck the evil capitalists who oppress me
By propagating and proffering the
Products and platforms I utilize daily.
How dare those with initiative, ingenuity,
And industrial acumen be rewarded.
One like. Two likes. Twenty likes.
Satiated by validation,
I shut my laptop and then my eyes,
Until the savory scent of bacon wafts into my room,
Coaxing me from slumber.
I fumble out of bed and zombie walk to the kitchen,
Where my mother hands me a plate.
In silence, my mother and I eat.
She gives me a wan smile
As she cleans the dishes,
Then she heads off to work.