The Cottage Collection

You felt nice,
I took my time and still you filled
the least poetry I ever did cram into a notebook.
I feel torn in myself lately.

(I am so sure you’ve noticed,
how could you not,
the tears,
mood swings,
fingers tight on my soft belly)

I am wanting for stability now,
clawing to get there

(trying not to claw the aforementioned
soft belly)

I cut the outside world,
well,
out to achieve this.

It has been successful.
Except when I draw back

(I seek balance
find me balancing

all scales tip,
swing,
sand blown off the top—
it causes the tilt)

I don’t think they have to like me,
I am learning that,
only a few of them bother me
when I think on it,

(I still wonder why I must think on it,
if I didn’t, surely that
would be enough)

I hope for the cottage something—
really.

A strange assignment to make
a kid, a child.

ruminate on their
dream.

Why’d I draw mine so small?

I clearly understood the hierarchy
of the parent’s room.

Strange.

Funny that I didn’t draw
the twin’s room
in.

I want to make,
ring my hands
with want
and scribble,
dawdle.

I can tear myself apart
piecing back together
little by little

(even bird by bird).

2/2/2021

The last night of 25.