I find so little time for me
I’d set aside a scant hour
from five to six, that's it,
for penning poetry.
Yet here I am
one ibuprofen and,
a bottle of ambient-temp water in,
and still:
this migraine lingers
on my front temple.
A cruel reminder
that I can’t bet on
high performance
cast under a time
— and head —
crunch.
Poet, writer, photographer and slightly distracted day-dreamer who muses on (gestures at everything) from the petty to the profound. On a semi-serious, fully earnest search for meaning in the mayhem. Perimenopausal, melanin-deprived, irony-enhanced recovering perfectionist Type A+ millennial woman. She balances the ever-continuing quest to Know Better/Do Better, with the distinct ego-death of parenting a smart, full-throated child who was raised to know the power of her voice. Mothering a teen means catching a side-eye in almost every interaction. Diana navigates the minutiae of everyday life through seeking the magical in the mundane. Follow along and laugh with her as the world flames out!
