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Kalliope 12h
I like to cook,
To cut and to chop,
Follow a recipe?
I think the **** not.

I guess and I taste
As I go along,
Each meal is different,
Every seasoning strong.

A pan so hot
With its sizzling sound,
Don’t come in my kitchen-
My chaos all around.

The water is boiling,
Steam clouds the air,
There’s flour on my face,
Chili powder in my hair.

Everyone knew
It was my turn to cook dinner,
Music blasting loud-
Master chef sinner.

I sing off-key
While I stir the ***,
But it smells delicious,
And that’s what I’ve got.

When it’s all done,
I plate it so nicely,
A centering ritual
That sometimes feels wifely.
For now I sweep the flour alone and scrub each little spill, but someday someone will help me clean, and we’ll dance in the kitchen until the world grows still
Kalliope 23h
I pick out my tea bags,
Sometimes two or three,
Steep them in hot water,
Letting them be.

Then I sift through my cabinets,
Searching with care,
For the best little items
My chai might wear.

I’ve already made sweet foam
To crown her with flair,
Maybe she'd like brown sugar
To melt in her hair.

Honeyed lace drips down-
Her favorite sweet,
She pairs well with maple,
Cinnamon makes her complete.

Deciding how we’ll dress her,
A very indecisive time,
Should she wear caramel today,
Or vanilla to rhyme?

Perhaps she’ll indulge,
Mixing both with a grin-
A drink dressed in luxury,
My soft comfort within.
Picking out the mug is another story...
I wash myself with water,
you find too hot to touch
But it soothes my aching muscles and
my tired soul so much
Relaxation is becoming me,
with eucalyptus in the air,
Soothing all my senses while I
lather it through my hair
Jelly bean body scrub in hand,
everything smells sweet
Exfoliating the day from my being, removing myself from defeat
Rubbing circles along my jaw to massage away exhaustion,
high pressured heat to free my shoulders of the burden they carry so often
Body oil to top it off,
strawberry my favorite choice
It's hard to hate yourself when you smell so good,
but it's easier to find my voice
It’s just soap and steam and strawberry oil, but it feels like a ritual to remind my body she’s worthy of being loved ✨️
I’m not always the most creative,
But I’ve always been a little naive,
Choosing easier routes to healing,
Ones that kept me feeling unseen.

But I think I’m done with hiding now,
Done accepting life’s just pain,
So I’ll start drafting love from everything mundane,
Romanticizing quiet mornings and loud summer rain.

I’ll find poetry in coffee steam,
In the way the trees sway and sigh,
In cracked sidewalks blooming weeds,
And cotton candied evening skies.

Maybe, just maybe,
If I love each gentle, ordinary thing again,
I’ll find the pieces of myself I thought I’d lost,
And fall back in love with life,
Or at least treat it like a friend
If I make myself see the beauty in one small action each day, maybe I can rewire my brain to just simply think that way

— The End —