I write about Stuff

 you came into my place
and began to tidy up
throwing out the old
You brought in the new
 
sometimes it's hard
to let go of old ways
the sharpness of two edges
stabbing   pain   it hurts
 
you go into corners
I'd rather left alone
you shake out the dust sheets
and look underneath
 
as the work goes on within
the transformation of self
is palpable touchable yea!
the move from unloveable
to a daughter of the King