Shake it Off, Irma

.There was a time that I’d hide such an infirmed or cautious state. ‘Twixt slippery lips, a shiny cup, and those “eagerest” of Ears, options start to reel: whether to keep up the conceal or lastly reveal. “Boots don’t walk forever” nor, in my case, dirty dirty bucks. I pant. I huff.

No, silly. I gave up the puff a few years back when my diagnosis seized my life.

Until I finally receive said heart and “le’ go my L-Vad”, my pace belies a caution, a yawn, a whimper. Or its growing need or diminishing timeline.

Please let me breathe or leave me alone.

I’ll join the Underworld’s Orpheus for a jaunty jig or a stolen reel. That is, if I “Can-Can”.

When it actually takes effort and energy to take a nap, that is the time best spent with eyes closed and hearts open. The Universe listens to prayer, no matter what we call it.

In fact, Irma, a prayer doesn’t even require a name, proper or otherwise.

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