Frustrations Tempered by Gratitude

I'm playing Chopin and in come the crickets.
I mean it. I stop to kill them.
I don't care about bugs
though I care about life
but I kill bugs because I hate them.

I hate the nightmares of insects in my bed
thousands of bugs under the covers,
these nightmares that haunted my childhood.

And my cats catch the bugs and kill them.
I've got paper towels and
frustration
and I'm tired.

Dinner wasn't good enough again,
I spent too much time on Instagram
but at least there was Beyonce.

Thank God for Beyonce.
And oranges.
And popsicles.
And cats.

The electric piano.
The quiet.
The flowers: yellow daisies, orange roses.

Thank God for the toaster
gathering dust
upholder of the American covenant of easy Breakfasts

--except for the days I had no breakfasts,
the nights I barely slept, for hunger--
Thank God those days are over.

Thank God these days I'm smarter.
Thank God, these days I'm stronger.

Strong enough to know my limits

What am I talking about? Are you wondering?
What I mean is: self-respect should only grow.

And if it didn't, I'd be an idiot.