the human experience

I am failing at the human experience.

            Can’t find my feelings in my bones.

            Can’t treat my parents to a nice meal.

            Can’t hug the man that I love.

So I start every day with a prayer to my shadow

            & then one to my God.

I drink my water & am delighted by how crisp it is every time,

even when it makes my teeth ache.

I help my mama do the laundry

& give two-month-old tortilla chips to the neighbor’s dogs.

I lift my weights & vent about life with my eighteen-year-old trainer

then dance it out on the treadmill.

I talk to the old men in the produce section at the supermarket

& wipe melting popsicle from my niece’s chin as we belt out Let it Go.

My father rubs my sore shoulders

& I eat my sister’s homemade cupcakes

& listen to my brother’s conspiracy theories.

I ask the librarian for recommendations

& read young adult & romance novels

& watch reality shows

& stir the roux for the gumbo.

I stretch my back & do a tarot spread

& pray to my God once again.

& He replies,

“how can you believe you’re failing the human experience?”