I brought this couch here
with new hopes for a
changed room
and it won't fit through
the door
and I brought this couch here

but nothing is right
about it's existence here
because I realized
I can't have nice things;
I destroy the change;
I put out the fire
                before it ignites;

and her first marriage
wasn't right
her second wasn't
either
but that didn't stop her
from proposing to nature
(Trust me, there were men
there
too)

and I wanted this couch here;
wanted to hire the men
and bring it up the stairs
and I did it because
I wanted it
and I can do things
myself
and I
am not hers
I'm not her baby--
I don't want to be
like her

but my new life won't fit
through the door
and I can't sit down
on the plush
in my own world
because it won't budge
pushed up against the doorframe

and so I am crying;
all hope is lost.