I called the disorder by its name,
and it stopped, dead in its tracks,
jerked its hand from the crooked heart and
tried to wipe me off its face,
said it’d just go back to bed,
but I told it to

Slowly sweeping it with the crumbs out the door,
I imagine all the regrowth I’ve in store,
for neither disorder nor dead limbs do I need.

I took his collar off and set me free.

2 thoughts on “Scruffy

  1. Thank you! I had to work at the original material of this poem to get the sad mood in, so I’m happy to hear you call it sad. 🙂
    I’ve checked out your blog- what a helpful topic. I will be coming back by!


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