The Writer

Written by: Lorraine Ferns

The book lies open
discarded notes
framing the corner

your room so quaint
pictures hang
You carefully smile

You have learned to guard

a wastepaper basket
full of nothing, so you say

wrinkled corners peak
over the edge

You silently wring your hands
trying to hide

To hide what?

Who you are?
Where you came from?

Your gut wrenching love 
spills, your fevered mumblings

You stare at the basket
then turn away

It’s just not good!
Just not good enough

How can you be so sure
if you hide 
and, don’t tell the world

Don’t let go!
Don’t ever let go!

Your conscience screams

Your cupboards full 
of empty corners

Your fridge unexplored
Your hands cold

And your unwaning love
begging from an impatient

metal Bin

Where perhaps, rejection sits?