Poem 4, one time, a vase

One time, a vase so pristine,
I stare at it and wonder

if you tore my skin, like the skin
of the girl I read about.

He told me he had no time,
and you waited there for some.

My dishes are your house.
Furniture, for your body, like it.

And still I wonder if I belong
to anyone.  I must not want more

 

Children.  My parents say I cannot
afford children, and so with this desire

I must defy my intellect, soul, or notions,
while life sets itself in motion, a continuum,

 

Like the tide, and I wonder why our deepest
thoughts are left to the night shorelines,

So vast and mysterious, terrifying and unknowing.