#reaching for something

It’s 9 p.m. and I’m at

the dinner table, reaching;

for something other than

my mother’s words

of approval.  She too is reaching;

for the possibility of mending  

my “broken” edges.

 It’s 10 p.m. and

The heaviness of her,

disappointment stops echoing

into my surrounding, and she’s

not reaching;

anymore.

 My hands meet, and

my thoughts are silent

prayers, reaching;

for some God’s acceptance.

Help me

 It’s 11 p.m. and

there is a

cold, that seems to penetrate

the walls of silence, I’ve

become confined in. My arms wrap

around my figure, like blankets reaching;

for warmth.

 I feel small.

Powerless.

Lacking.

 I find myself shaking, reaching;

for her;

Come back,

Please.

I’ll reach;

perfection.

I promise.

huffing and puffing,

where are we? what the hell is going on? the dust has only just begun to form crop circles in the carpet sinking feeling spin me round again and rub my eyes, this can't be happening when busy streets a mess with people would stop to hold their heads heavy hide and seek trains and sewing machines all those years they were here first oily marks appear on walls where pleasure moments hung before the takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this still life hide and seek

trains and sewing machines

oh, you won't catch me around here blood and tears (hearts) they were here first Mmmm whatcha say, Mmm that you only meant well? well of course you did