Welcoming Act 1

standing at the door like a dog waiting for a pat or maybe a hit. either would do. you give me that “thanks for participating” smile, like i just auditioned to be forgotten politely. what do you expect me to say? that enlightenment dawned on me between therapy and the kitchen’s white walls? that i’m writing poetry now you know, the sad kind with line breaks that pretend to mean something? i could tell you i’m doing okay. that i’ve discovered greatness. that i sleep like a rock skipped into a lake. but let’s not waste each other’s time you don’t look at me the same. you look at me as if i owe you rent for occupying a second. still, the world spins. indifferent, unimpressed. like a ceiling fan on a tuesday morning in a room that always smells like burnt toast.