All the personality of a bar code

Bars and spaces parallel
Unique, yet unnamed, and carries
Not even as much individuality as a number.
Tired of repeating the same answers,
I try to go off script.
No luck.
To this operator/ scheduler/ untitled worker I am just another account.
One of many, all alike.
I am a bar code.
A featureless set of lines, unreadable by the human eye.
Scan me, I may contain information.
Feelings? Symptoms? Pain? Forget it.
Follow the script, the whole script, and only the script.
Is this any way to provide health care?
If I can get past the operator/ scheduler/ untitled worker I might be a person. Maybe.
Then again, maybe not.


In the garden

I can be me.
I can relax.
I don’t have to pretend to be normal
Or fake happiness.
No plastic smiles stick on my face.
Social skills optional; the tomatoes want water, not conversation.
In the garden
I have no deadlines.
I can slowly pour the water onto the plants
Letting the moisture sink into the soil
Nourishing the plant roots below
Encouraging growth above ground.
In the garden
I can hold entire conversations in my head
No one need know what I’m thinking
Indeed, the talk is quite dull to most.
In the garden, my thoughts are my own
Until I decide to share them, if I share them at all.
A small plot of ground,
My garden is my retreat.
When I need a break.

Recipe for a rough morning

Take one dark and dreary day,

with the preceding poor night’s sleep full of
Dreams that upset and confuse.
Sore eyes wanting to close,
Shoulders tense with unease.
Pick up a soft and sweet rabbit asking for a hug. Snuggle and pet.
Find lumbar pillow. Insert behind lower back in recliner.
Reach for a flavored coffee: half caffeinated, so as not to over stimulate.
Add a layer of cozy blanket throws.
Take a deep breath.
Close eyes.
Empty mind of confusion and worries.
Take another deep breath.