a shadow of every hobby
she hoped would turn to passion
dust is starting to collect
on her dreams
intricately carved wooden piano
next to her bookshelf
and her dad’s old Fender guitar
she hasn’t played in months
her plants all wither with time
leaving behind empty pots of dirt
and her record player sits alone
on top of her shelf
paint bottles were left open
the remains harden in the desk drawer
with a half-painted canvas
and a photograph of her mother
the red string in her sewing machine
got all tangled last time she used it
so now spiders make webs on it
at the top of her closet
most of her cds are unplayed
organized by color into perfect stacks
she was gifted them by her uncle
last time he got drunk
and she collects everything
clinging to her trinkets and stones
like they bring her life
she has always lived in organized clutter
photographs cover all of the walls
she has a piece of everyone
she has ever loved
because what if she forgets somehow
she sleeps with so many blankets
and she is never kept warm
even when the heat is turned on
and the window is closed
and sometimes her old black cat
doesn’t come to bed at night
instead he goes outside and disappears
to get some fresh air
and sometimes she
doesn’t come to bed at night
instead she goes outside and disappears
to get some fresh air