I’m reading a book recommended to me
By a woman whom I once adored.
I’m reading, avoiding inviting the world
For the world leaves me feeling ignored.
I make friends with a spider I’m terrified of
Who lives on my white bedroom wall;
I know he deserves life as much as I do
Even though he is creepy and small.
I’m wearing soft clothing, lying and waiting
And writing a poem in bed,
Remembering over and over forever
The words that I felt and I said.
I’m hearing the lawnmower, water through pipes,
The cars on the road passing by
Destined to be somewhere other than here
And I can’t help my wondering why.
Why is the grass not allowed to be growing?
Why must the spider bring fear?
Why do the people drive quickly to elsewhere
When they know they will end up back here?
Why do I care for an author’s opinion?
Why can’t I love people less?
All I can do is get up and keep smiling
And be me: a beautiful mess.