Lost cat

If I’m going to let you in
you better show up.
If I’m going to lower this guard
you better put down all your weapons.
If I’m going to expose my heart
you better be gentle.

This fear is like a little lost cat
who can’t find it’s way home,
who’s hungry and cold and miserable.
This anxiety is how all the kids
on the little league team feel
when the worst batter is up to bat
and they already have two outs
and the score is tied
and it’s the eight inning.
This impatience is like a sailing vessel
in the 19th century
before modern navigational technology
with its wanting mates scanning the horizon
desperately.

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