I want you to scoop my
muddy murky thoughts
up in your hands -
to wipe the mud off
and kiss what's there.
But somehow I can't tell you this
so I long to be a moody adolescent
to lie on my bed
There's a drawbridge I could let down
but somehow I don't do that easy thing
like I need to have you there and me here now.
I can't be an adult all the time
I don't feel like being mature
of communicating.
I need to be cut off
isolated right now.
And the last poem
was about longing for you.
Wow! am I ever moody.
Set an egg timer
for my moods.
Throw out the hard boiled moods
stamp on the carton
let the water boil and the cat meow for her breakfast.
Eggs need to break and be
discarded sometimes.
The trash gets emptied every day
the house never stinks.
You know it would be so easy
to take the splinter out
but I'd rather complain and hurt by the splinter
The needle is too far away
and to open the drawer
and get it would be far too hard.