Monday.

Sometimes these tangled feelings
Start to feel like reality
And I wonder if
I am just a foolish child
Hanging on to the apron strings of my mother
Truly not understanding
Time
Passing
Truth
Fleeting
I don't even know what poetry is now,
My black fingernails chipping along the keys of my computer
Chipping
Clip
Clip
Chipping,

There is a bird in the birch tree in front of the house.

There's a note with nothing on it in my pocket where you left it.

There's a prize and a stinging and a look of malice...

I only ever led with kindness... 

Did you miss it?