It is a pool.

It is not a drawer

or a folder or a book.

It is not organization.

It is open envelopes

spilled out over the floor

and I’m trying to sort

my mail – the birthday letters

from the love letters

from the bills

from the crap

that’s given to

everyone else

and is nothing

worth reading.

– it is a pool.

and not everyone

likes to swim.

It is a pool, but not

a pretty one, not an indoor one,

not even a contained one.

It is a pool of spilled milk

all over the kitchen table

and not everyone is

ready to cry over me

– it is a pool.

and I’m over here

on the deep end

waiting for you to wade in

so I can toss you the lifebuoy

I don’t have.

This is a slow drowning

process, relax. and breathe.

This is not…

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2 thoughts on “Mywordpool

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