comfortable insignificance
comfortable insignificance stove stories
  •   1 comment

moonrise tea lover, wannabe poet
Autoplay OFF   •   5 months ago
a little poem I wrote, for the daily prompt

comfortable insignificance

the sky weeps, its freshwater tears streaking my window-panes,

turning the world outside into a streaked, blurry mess.

I am sitting in a kitchen chair pulled close to the glass door,

sipping something sweet and listening to my Grease record.

the soft sounds of "blue moon" echo through the room,

and I look up at the ceiling, watching

- the cranes made from old cut-up tests that I strung from my ceiling twirling around,

propelled by the ceaseless spinning of the ceiling fan

- my two cats, curled around each other like yin and yang

- the heat emanating from my stove, where a loaf of bread is tucked in the oven,

rising, rising, and then ready to eat.

- the pictures that patchwork my walls, blanketing them

with a map of where I've been, where I am, and where I want to go.

looking across these images, alone in my own space,

makes me feel small, like a singular ant.

like a whisper of a cloud in an all-blue sky.

like a crumb on a white platter.

but it's a comfortable significance, like I have no obligations,

like today I have nothing to lose if I do nothing,

no one to disappoint.

who minds me, a singular person in a crowd?

I can simply sit, and appreciate the things around me,

and breathe, smile, laugh

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