Declaring I’m not stressed when any ask,
and sleeping rather soundly for my age,
I’m quite sincere – this visage is no mask,
I’m not a martyr, and I don’t engage
hyperbole to write or self-portray.

But lately I’ve a tender neck that tells
me to relax, my right eye tics to say
the similar, and honesty compels
me to admit I really should regard
myself:
release my shoulders and my jaw;
protect my skin;
ensure my spine’s not jarred;
obey my cells’ requests,
my natural law;
and practicing my preaching, run the drill
that doesn’t feature sweets or sitting still.