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Intermission
Your voice is scratchy and tired
Over the phone,
And I can tell that you need to tuck
Some of your highest hopes
Into bed.
They look like the sobbing best friends
You've helped before.
For that, I'm grateful.
Your love has been my duct tape,
My glue gun, and so much more.
I fixed all sorts of things with it
In the house of my neuroses.
If you need to draw your pain,
I have crayons for every kind of blue
You might be feeling.
If you want to buy some clothing,
A brand new wardrobe
For the person you are becoming,
That's good too.
I can already see you
Stripping off the roles that no longer work,
And knowing
That you have the right to reject
Being typecast.
Kris
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