Love song

my sharpest angles have been poking out
without regard for the room I’m in or the clothes I’m wearing

and I’m feeling the full force of my not-sorryness about it.

I’ll poke.
and you can move.

all this time being mother hen to the whole world,
lining your nest with feathers,
(and yours.)
(and yours.)

I understand it may be abrupt,
all those sticks and predators.

let’s see what we’re made of.