Poetry
is my counsellor
prose
my revelation
the unravelling
of who I am

The old woman who lives next door
she asked of you today
she guessed you’d gone
she knows our world has broken

She heard our voices raised
the slam of the door when you left
and me
wailing in the hall at this ****** hollow life

You thought she was mad
an old *****
self obsessed
with flea ridden cats
that’s because you never took the time
to discover the woman

She told me
he left forty years today
without a word
slammed the door
just like you
and she waited
waited in the company of her cats
waited...for him

Cats are her love
she cares for them
and in return they adore her

Isn’t love what matters
even if it’s only a cat
who loves you?

If every person you’d ever known
turned the other way
wouldn’t you also be grateful
for the love of a cat?

When I was a child
I thought the hardest thing to do
Was sharing my lunch box with the other kids

The scariest thing was
Fighting the monsters
In my dream

And the worst thing was
Having my toys taken from me
And not getting them back

But as I grew up
I finally realized that

The hardest thing to do
Was not sharing my lunch box
It was sharing itself

The scariest thing that could ever happened
Was not fighting the monsters in my dream
But fighting my own demons inside

And the worst thing
Was not having my toys taken away
It was letting them being taken away
And not do anything about it