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.