Think Highly

Its prickly thoughts drop
pointed like tears,
at times landing
round and soft,
pooling as a placid lake,
lulling as summer rain
Should all land in chance
of familiar modal harmony,
I’ll think highly of myself
as often as possible—mantras,
maxims, motivations taped;
post-it notes on the window:

Lay out the facts.
Do your work.
Trust your intelligence.

Taped to my sun visor in my car:
I love all of me, even
my suffering and uncertainty.

On a lunch sack in Sharpie:
Love yourself & hold steady;

if time, I’d written:
Don’t get knocked off your love game.

I eek around corners to add to mirrors
double reminders. But none could keep
me where I needed to be or keep
you from getting angry.

“Who do I think I am?” You asked.

Yell echoes
its sonic spell
flicks an avalanche;
the delicate enchant-
ments buried in snow
Search parties
dig for the bones
of our crumpled body

On the long journey back
to sense of self and confidence,
slowly grows my clone—this one
tattooed in reminders—to think
highly of herself as often as possible.

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