the chirping of the night

written November 2007

I sit on the cold granite
in my worn jeans
in my worn self
and I write to the chirping of the night.

Sometimes, life leaves me tired.
This afternoon, I sat on the toilet
and wept into a crumple of 2-ply
still attached to the roll.
These are the things people do
when their brains are full
or their souls feel empty.

I never know where my keys are
and I never know how to tell people
that I'm sick and I'm okay
or I'm sad and I'm ok.
Or that I'm not ok at all.

It's night now and I'm outside
my thoughts floating to the moon.
Perhaps this will give them the freedom
to find their place in things.

I listen to the chirping of the night.