Writing stuff that is not me.
Living vicariously through my cats.
Cleaning up after everyone else in the house.
Lack of sleep and random food times.
Striving to do better and despairing of success.
Not knowing what my next phase of life will be.
Anxious and unwilling to ask for help.
The phrases of good friends go unheard.
On this cold winter day
where the errands must be run
All I want is to curl up and cry.
Instead a false smile plastered on
as I head out the door to a future I don’t understand.
Saturn's Premier Poet 