What Game?

I guess I'll leave it here,

This discontented thought-wracked day.

Nothing has changed, but I am tired.

There is some game going on and

I don't understand how to win.

I've spent the day in determined panic, 

My arms braced for impact.

I am tired of remembering to

Hold you at arm's length. 

I Pick Myself Up

I do not belong here,

On this shelf with your other toys.

I pick myself up, dust myself off.

Work the paralyzing hope out of my joints.

I clambor down, clumsy first, then flying.

If you want me, you can call.

If I can hear you I will answer

Because I love you.

But I am running now,

By tonight, who knows where I'll be.

Fine Lines

There is only
a very fine line
between
a doormat and
a waiting girl.

Cyn McCurry - Casting