Hotel Room Floor
Crying
on the hotel room floor,
not knowing where I’m going.
Where is my life at this moment?
Do I even deserve it?
My tears soak the carpet.
I belong on the floor.
It is the only thing that would have me,
welcome me
with open arms.
I lay here.
The rough bristles caress my face
as I ponder my future.
Do I even deserve it?
Nothing I have now means anything.
I am at peace.
Let me sink
and merge
into the carpentry.
This is indeed a place for me.
♦◊♦
Sorry for Breaking It
I switch; a dumb move precedes catastrophe.
Amazon in a printed dress, her neck fragile,
shatter ceramic, apologies are like glue,
fixing mistakes. I feel terrible, still.
Accidents forgiven, not forgotten,
mistakes make or break creatives.
Things were fine seconds ago.
Let this not become a “remember when you-” moment.
I apologize. Please, let the glue do its job.
—
Back Patio Press 