Is breathing Is sitting and reading Is working for money Is loving a person you’ve got time for Is holding a child, Pushing them on the swings Is bleaching the toilet Is being in the supermarket, Finding they’ve discontinued Another brand Is having a talk that’s Becoming a row Is lying in the bath and having A drink among the warm bubbles Is laughing With a lump in the throat Is doing all sorts of things is nothing But you know They all count. Kate ©
an old, old poem (i think i might have been 17 when i wrote this) about feeling as if you have to justify every little thing you do because it isn’t productive or going to get you to an end goal.