Pieces of Paper
Certificate of birth adorned with apostille...

Pointless crimes
that happen every day...

They say I have a disorder
and there's a name for it...

Upon endless pages the ink has dried
Tear stained paper from where I've cried...

I don't want another nasty broom
It has no power, it doesn't go vroom...

I was standing in the garden
on the outskirts of my home...

Pretend you don't know
Absent minded bombshell tell me your despair...

Retaliation
settles deep...

It's my job as a receptionist,
to answer the calls and try not to miss...

Though my hands
have settled dust...

Her mind,
it screams "Remember me&quot...

I am Tuesday's child,
born on an August morning...