It's in the midnight oil
The forever pacing and building up
In the ticking of the rush
Of universally giving up
Any real form of control
But fearlessly and with
An inexplicable confidence
Sailing the ship.

It's the hours
That twiddle and twaddle by
The jetsetting and business card exchanging
The days where bras have no importance
And the inability to sleep at an early hour
When I reside alone
Wanes on.

It's in the plethora of emails
The rallying, the motion
That a Shakespeare teacher
Once told me I had a constant forward
Energy filled motion
About me

And it's in the handful of
Collected with stillness moments
Where the ship could still hum
The pacing has lessened
The questions are in the work
And bill at the end
Is addressed
To me and my
And all the she's
Who thought
They too
Might not.