birds

what bitter truth for baby birds that no one can learn to fly for them

alone

how tempting it is to blame others for the loneliness of life

the degree to which I am able to grieve

in the same way

does the germinating seed resent the surface?

sometimes I fear I’ll never learn how to truly handle the joy

maybe the mop? there’s soot everywhere it’s under my nails and under my soul where I shoved that self I swore to punish

me, myself, and I

what do I feel?

I resent how safe my self isolation makes me feel and yet how it also makes me sick.