What I cannot have

I sit at thoughts’ forest, being purred upon,

wishing my only concerns were as simple.

Cat doesn’t care that I fear for our future

or that bills are due. He cares that my lap is warm.

.

My stomach, a fire of doubt, begs for poison.

I stop to consider the reasons I’m awake.

Months of pushing food into an unforgiving

body no longer able to understand the onslaught.

.

My mind, an echo of anxieties, begs for reason,

wishes for wholeness, cries out for acceptance,

dreams of contentment, wants what it cannot have;

a writer’s mind, a poet’s soul…and a normal life.