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[soymilksavvy]

shit is good/shit is terrible

and i move forward anyway.
i grumble a lot;
i moan and crease my brow.
i wipe it and laugh at the sweat
dripping from my chin
because it is so unexpected,
as much as the breeze
that grows me cooler in its balm.

i see a pattern in the salty pool in my palm;
it is a universe of outside of this.
it is a world i do not know,
and when i get to show it to people with
the oils roiling in the sun
it looks like something real,
when they see it at all.

my sweat is what revitalizes
and traces the line of work,
the line of movement.
a dance is not that dissimilar to
a sudden dash.
they both require a rhythm not welcome.

shit is hard/shit is worth it.