One day to the next,
Catching myself smiling at nothing.
So strange to feel good--
What is there in store?
The tree is mine again
Because it's not about there being no leaves--
Everyone leaves.
It's about there being branches.
And I've branched out and made new friends,
Orange bulbs that dot my heart.
The swaying darkness we shared is no more--
My room has gone from asylum to home.
Plastic bats speckle my life:
The window, doorknob, the ceiling in the bathroom.
A passive-aggressive "thanks" we laugh at next door
An aggressive knock I'm the only one to answer
You show me your first poem:
Homesickness.
Now I'm catching myself smiling at something.
This is a love poem to you--
Or rather, a thank you
And an I'm sorry--
an appreciation
of what we share.
1:54 pm
1/28/19
Stream of consciousness poem
