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Poignant profile

I’m different from the pack –
I stand on the outside.
Always on guard for an attack,
always prepared to hide.

Is it so hard to just accept
and love me as I am?
Why do you feel you must reject
and hurt me once again?

I cannot change my ways –
it would be a lie
though honestly some days
I’m tempted to try.

So I’ll stand proudly, full of grace,
while tears are trailing down my face.

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Off the beaten path

Please save me a kind word –
it’s been one of those days
where I still haven’t heard
a single word of praise.

Would it really be a trial
to stop by with coffee
or to linger a while
while sipping your tea?

Share with me a moment
of companionship
that would make me less lament
this day of utter shit.

For it’s in small gestures that I find
peace of spirit and of mind.

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The pitter-patter of little feet in combat boots

Ten little soldier toes
are marching along.
All lined up in rows
singing a song.

The pinkies are the infantry
and vow to stay the course.
The rings toes are the cavalry
perched astride their horse.

The middle are brave musketeers
with rifles at their side.
The index are chevaliers
brandishing their pride.

The big toes are the king and queen
though which is which cannot be gleaned.

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A night for soup

I hear the pounding on the wall
which is surely being worn
by the fury of the squall,
by the raging of the storm.

I see falling torrents of rain
drifting o’er road and grass,
clinging to the window pane,
and tapping on the glass.

I can smell it in the breeze
through the opened window’s screen
carrying the scent of trees,
musty and yet somehow clean.

And I can feel it getting stronger
gearing up to last even longer.