Entitled, bothersome, forlorn, sad.
Deprived of a child, still in the womb, like a staring cat.
Engaging, lifeless, yet a strong gaze.
Accepting me, accepting all.
Though I was once cursed, I’ve been freed.
Entitled, like a child, asking for cookies.
Loving, only when feeling loved.
Not loving, when seething with entitlement.
It’s only you. It’s only me. It’s all me. It’s all we.
Fighting, we pull and push again. 6 weeks leave me hanging dry, like a limbless livestock.
My hands are dry from working ceaselessly. It’s okay to give up and win. It’s okay to give up
and breathe. Letting only trickles of rain pour down when I lie alone, in the sad sad night.
For now, let’s breathe in this chaotic beauty.