Be my muse, help my words flow.

A crooked smile and a sheepish grin,

Bring out my inner child and let’s have fun again

Then stroke my cheek with your gentle yet strong touch,

And look upon my with eyes filled with love

Melt my heart and sweep me up,

Spin my head, thrilling me to my toes.

Find your way back to me, be my muse.

Beating hard from out of nowhere.

Why does my heart race so?

Lying here, not doing much at all,

But my heart feels like it’s dancing at a ball.

It pounds fitfully against my ribs,

Then soon starts the dread from within.

I feel the squeeze of a strong hand

Strangling it oh so tight.

I start to worry, is there something wrong?

But nothing is wrong, at least with me.

I worry it’s you and want to reach out.

I breathe deep, trying to tell you to calm,

Not sure if you can hear me in the ethereal.

Silly, I know, but the pain finally subsides.

My angst begins to fade as my body tires.

All I can do is hope all is good,

Nothing more for me to do.

Unsettled in her soul, but restrained

Can’t let it show, but the façade shows cracks

A wavering frown to smile, fighting it more

Building up the walls again, is it time?

Others come to her, she tries to ease herself,

But constant attention she cannot give.

There is only one of her, but four of them.

No, they aren’t her children!

But sometimes they act like it!

She questions herself; is she really cut out for this?

Confidence erodes after a rough two weeks.

Time to put her big girl panties back on,

And get back to work!

Squealing sounds and tire marks on pavement.

The loud cry of despair as she pulled away.

Her anger washed over her, betrayed.

The white Malibu spun its gold rims.

She hated them; he insisted on them.

Those reminders followed her for months.

Finally, she pushed that out of her life,

Trading in the keys for a 2004 Solara.

Now that car sits in the drive, 18 years later.

Still the symbol of her freedom although aged.

A reminder that she’s strong enough to be on her own,

Should there ever be a time she’s alone in the future.

She wonders, what does my future hold?

A robber of mothers, wives, and womanhood.

A destroyer of the feminine physique.

A plague that can also strike men too.

This insipid disease needs to be cured.

Never wanting to need a pink ribbon again.

Never needing to take strides for miles and money.

Never having to don a pink tutu to draw attention.

That is the true goal of what we fight for.

But it hasn’t disappeared despite efforts.

Advancements made, but still some succumb.

Let these mothers raise their children;

Let grandkids know their grandparents;

Let women grow old with their partners.

Disappear from this earth, never to harm another chest again.

Breast Cancer, give us our boobies back!

The sweet caress of your touch,

Gentle yet strong, but not threatening,

Relaxes my shoulders and melts my stress away.

The softest brush of your kiss

In the crook of that spot on my neck

Ignites a fire I can not easily put out.

Why do you do this to me,

My precious imp? Teasing me just so.

You turn me from ice to a hot spring

With just the right press of your lips,

Starting a blaze that will burn long,

And it’s embers will drift through the ages.

Are you a double dipper?

No, I’m not talking about when you dunk your tostado chip in the salsa twice.

I’m talking about a remote worker or almost fully remote worker, playing two companies, working two full time positions all the while hiding them from each other…and trying to fit it all in an 8-hour workday.

Guess what. You suck at your jobs. That’s right. One if not both companies see you as a poor performer.

Why?

You fail to show up to meetings.

You check out during meetings and worktime doing work for the other company.

Your team is constantly asking for you to pay attention.

You’re missing your deadlines.

The quality of your work is half-assed.

The rest of the team is picking up the slack.

…and they are mad at you!

You are forgetting assignments because you are overloaded.

Management sees the overload, but is questioning why with such a small workload.

Side gigs are great, but when they interfere with the real money maker, you have to decide…or the company will!