Here is me, patio stone, a rock for stepping on.
One of many that line the driveway.
Here I am, gravel path, crunched and pushed down deeper into
the soil. My apologies for not molding myself to fit your foot in anticipation
of your step.
Here is me, a blade of grass bent at a painful, sharp angle
so that you could get where you are going a second faster. Sorry for slowing
you down.
Here I am, the bottom step. I know I am just a means to the
top, I don’t mind that you land here momentarily and are gone. I know my place.
I’m comfortable with it.
Here is me, your
door mat. I waited, clean and fresh for you.
You were late.
Your boots are muddy, your shoes are wet.
This feeling is unpleasant.
You need to go.
I tried to be everything for you, but not this. Not anymore.
I am door mat no longer.
