A Choice
You
Are the stray hair
Caught in my eyelash there
During silent sitting
You
Are the hot knot
Churning hungry in my gut
While I am sitting still
You
Are the bones
Below my toes grinding
Into the ground
When I chose not to move
You
Are the decision
I may have to make
Once I get up
To go through my day
I
For now will simply feel
The tug and sting in my eye
The rot and rumble in my gut
The gristly grating in my bones
The desire to choose in my chest
I
Will sit with
You
-a.r.
The Broken Column, Frida Kahlo
sometimesihatemycat 
inclusive; benignedly compassionate
Thank you. It’s tough to be compassionate toward that stray hair in your eye. 🙂