morning ritual

she eats faster than I can make my coffee 

then takes my place in bed

that tiny strip along one side 

where she allows me to sleep 

expecting me to squeeze into a snuggle 

while my coffee grows cold on the nightstand

melancholic for the cicadas

everybody’s body

has a rhythm 

has a cadence

has a thump-thump

of a heart beating

of a hum in their ears

of a mind wandering 

melancholic for the cicadas

my heart feels off

and a rock feels no pain

I needed once

perhaps I’ll need again soon

the impermanence of a lover

the depth of knowing 

with a touch and words deep

of a heart’s dreams and remorse 

perhaps I’ll need

the permanence of a companion

the depth of growing

with care and attention 

to life too quick to end

The sense of things

I gave up surviving for

 a fight to live in

a place of 

illogical norms where

the sense of 

things allude me:

a place where

to exist is a chore

sweetest girl

She watches listens

movements sounds

out the window cracked

slightly open; sadly 

comfort and constant 

adoration housed

on a leash fed twice daily 

I cannot give something 

other different wildly

running in a pack; sadly 

I watch as She sighs

curling into my side to sleep 

nature v nurture

to enjoy time at home

time alone

to prefer gatherings 

of close friends 

to prefer loud spaces 

in moderation 

the guilt of societal pressure to be

something someone other than yourself 

the guilt of Mother…