No…you don’t have to—there’s no need
to be lonely or cast out to write
poetry…though such a thing helps. Truly,
it helps if you’ve been rejected enough
to pick up the sharp inner needle and
look around to see what’s inside. I
would never have done it, had I known.
Did I do right? I’m not sure.
Maybe so, but looking back it feels
as if someone might have turned all
the road signs backwards, set down a few
orange cones, a few neon arrows,
as some kind of joke,
to send me down this path,
into this labyrinth that has become my home…
a messy, damp, and strange place,
though perhaps it’s also the place where I
am meant to be—if I am meant to be
anywhere at all, that’s it.
Maybe I can show others how to
survive in this kind of home, if they
cannot thrive here. That remains to be seen.
