Last night that you read my poems
And told me you forgot how good I was
It broke my heart and made me happy at the same time. In the dream I smiled and looked down. Henry told me that once too, not so long ago
I told him to go fuck himself
Ok, I didn’t. I nodded at him and said thank you
Blah blah ego. Blah. But it would be nice if
It wasn’t so easy to forget myself
I don’t want to put you or Henry or the dogs first anymore. I know I will – Damn tricky beasts of burdens
I’ll lose myself in the cello and play dough and drawing of evil cats and big smiles and stubborn mouths and piles of dirty clothes and demands for food stuffs and toys and damn stuff dropped all over the floor And I’ll become the repetitive motions, human dredge.
Sometimes though, you all disappear and I have a line or feeling that asks for purpose and I find myself again like now. Now I’ll make the fucking soup
Annieepoetry 