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A poem by Teressa Morris
Sometimes we have to choose to live.
Just like we choose to get out of bed,
or brush our teeth,
or put one foot in front of the other.
Not because we want to,
but because we know it’s good for us.
And so we get out of bed
and we put one foot in front of the other,
and we brush our teeth,
and we live
in the hopes that it will get better
(or at least easier).