Sore shoulders and weak knees,
my body is trying to tell me something.
Lactic acid is building up in my muscles,
settling in my bones: the end to the cycle.
Tomorrow will begin a theater of interactions that matter,
I should take a lesson in concentration.
This isn't what I want, I yearn for the aches,
I love the uncomfort.
Busy work makes me dismissive, and the people
don't help either.
Smooth-brained and simple minded, it's just a future version
of what could become of me.
An inch lift under foot is enough to ignite my intuition.
A weaker version of myself negotiates with my newly forming self:
offering dull reward and a safe spot reserved for my passive pleasure.
Real life low lives are enough to show me what I want.
Sore shoulders and weak knees, they beg me to stop.
But I didn't ask their opinion.