my mom began a disconnect
and stopped entertaining my
depressed notions, I want to
tear the newspaper in front
of her and tell her she will
never understand, buffer
this thought by receding,
folding myself into 1,000
paper cranes for a wish
finding a new life under
the duvet, searching the
skies for shooting stars
but it's been cloudy all
year
long.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014