The wind
at my door
RATTLES me
shakes me
free of my
pointed finger
Blameless, I
turn inwards,
concave,
I search
for the love
in me
& return
with a bunch
of old bones,
skeletons of
myself that
I have wasted
away on
pleasing other
people's needs
so that
they could use me
as a net
when they
fall, & tell me
that I pushed
them, that
it's all my
fault.