i am pouring bits of myself into mason jars
watching the drops that remain behind laughing
because they should never have been there
because i can't imagine what i would have been without them
and if this is better or worse i cannot say
being stuck with my fragile essence
i do not know what it means to mourn this poverty
i can catch only small glimpses here and there as i struggle despite
my good intentions to be what i know i should
but even there lies a problem
there, if far too much time spent on myself
far to much for my liking
for these shifting seasons bring about change
which is quite another subject entirely.
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