the bores of every day

im looking forward to days filled
with the daily bores of every day
things that bear more 
thought 
quiet 
self 
the intent to enjoy 
and ability to chew. on. it. 
savor 
all the small, seemingly insignificant strings
puppeteering my peace 
and what
fills me

the smell of nascent rain
slightly metallic on a city ground.
picking pink, orange, peach flowers
no, red. red and green. 
that is what i choose today.
it is not what i must do tomorrow.
chopping parsley and my stained fingers.
hands to heart, and a long exhale.
a horizontal breath 
so wide in my diaphragm.

that is me, that is me, this is me

this is how i want to exist
and take up space in this world -
this way.

not the other way.
i don’t feel like myself when i’m there.
i stray too far 
so far 
from me and the quiet.
all it is is loudness
and “can you?”
“won’t you? will you? please do.”

the pleasure and joy in, 
nothing. 

what is a bore
if not the things that bring you
all the good feelings in life?
if not the things that stir us
and make us feel alive
in this loud loud loud loud loud loud hell?
oh i want silence more than anything.

but the growl of my stomach is quite loud
and this is what they say
is natural.