I will sleep once more

on the cold, hard floor.

Not again on the lumpy couch

whose cushions try to eat me.

Not once on the dusty cot

in my mother’s house.

And never in a warm bed

with your arms around me.

I won’t betray the way that I feel

or lessen its importance

for anyone now.

I am my own, to do with as I please.

I am feeling my choices, my stiff back and bruised knees.

But I don’t want to do what I’ve always done.

I know the results that are destined to come

if I don’t change:

I break things.

I never make things


So now I’ll try my luck

at sleeping on the floor

and doing only as I please

and nothing more.

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