Cold Morning Showers
My goal in life is chasing discomort.
Everyday I wake up at 6 for an ice baptism.
Discomfort begins growth.
My alarms screams at me.
Creating discomfort grows growth.
The shower starts, ice falls.
Mimicing discomfort allows me to be ready for real discomfort.
I dance a fear dance, the dance of regret.
Masochistically, pain is bliss.
I get used to the water, but the fear to start is the worst.
This poem is about:
Me