my how things change

This weekend the dog pissed on the yoga mat,
which sprawled before the litter box
in my vain attempts to trap paw trailings.
I threw that mat out.
It is almost like, five years ago
that yoga mat wasn't a gift from you and
it was not wrapped below the Christmas tree
not some meager poor husband gift offering
and almost, just almost,
I thought about feeling a smidge guilty
now that I can easily buy new mats
every other day if I want and
I threw that one out
with it's shit and decay.

am i depressed, y'all?

so fragile- my ego,
pride, what have you-
one word
sentance
i collapse
supernova-
implode upon myself
like sped-up
time lapse
flowering wilting
nature channel
rupturing into a blackhole
pussy
brain-ready for death.

dear friendship, why are you so hard?

Sometimes, adult people talk about how easy it was to make friends when they were little angels cherub cheeked and unfiltered. Why they just walked up to someone, appearing in similar age and stature, powerless to the shifting and larger people around them. Kinetic energy, they blurted out, "LET'S BE FRIENDS" and through geographic proxy, it was so. It was deeply so. But that wasn't my experience, then nor now. So I creak and sway, like dry oak branches, scratching limbs, stray cat outside the door. Could I, might I, possibly....oh never mind. I am never similar age or stature, and I am not powerless to the shifting, larger people, I just gave up fighting long ago.

let's meet for lunch

Spicy chocolate drink
hesitantly sipped, I'm on the edge
of my seat,
of the cliff,
dangling above clouds
or thick fog
so far away
I don't know the difference
between casual conversation
and devil's lair.

Wolf Heart

I am not afraid
it comes out a whisper
from sunrise to sunset
pastel skies with the moon,
a guest no one seemed to invite,
but welcomed none the less.
Trees, shadowed veins, woven in
the sky dark, patterned lace.
I feel howling, strong and large
warrior soul, wild woman, loving mother
bringing light and wonder to all.
Thank you for this day.

Gato Blanco

"Don't lick your stitches,"
I sigh, firm as if you understand me,
sweet like a best friend would,
but you are cat.

Long-bodied, stretched
and slender tail, white sleek fur,
the golden eyes stare me down
wise and fierce.

It is me who needs chiding,
it is me who is student
grasping to know you
but I don't.

Pied Piper

I'm an orphan, urchin child
dirty face, tear-streaked
matted rat hair.
Lost, I wonder.

Enter you, debonair
crass and blunt tongue
wild-eyed
monster truck revs
magician.
Weaving your
charming tales.

So I follow,
not blindly but thoughtfully
consciously.
I adjust my blinders-
"Lead the way!"