Poetry About Inconsistency

On Monday I rise early; by Thursday the alarm speaks to an empty promise. The self I describe and the self I practice exchange uneasy glances. Consistency looks simple from outside the weather of a life. Grief, illness, money, and sleep redraw the best-made routine. Sometimes contradiction is avoidance; sometimes it is new evidence. A broken streak does not erase the mornings that came before it.

Consistency looks simple from outside the weather of a life. I learn to ask what the pattern needs instead of whom to blame. Reliability grows from structures kinder than constant willpower. Even values require translation into the next small action. Change rarely travels in the straight line promised by charts. An uneven path can still lead faithfully toward home.

On Monday I rise early; by Thursday the alarm speaks to an empty promise. Sometimes contradiction is avoidance; sometimes it is new evidence. A broken streak does not erase the mornings that came before it. Even values require translation into the next small action. Today I begin again without pretending it is the first beginning. An uneven path can still lead faithfully toward home.