Matting up

I’m Matting up
’cos I miss ya—
and to feel safe;¹

wearing (a facsimile of) your
woodsman shirt
(co-opted from my kid).

Considering how I might change
or mask, so you like me again—
and if it’s worth it.

If the break goes too long,
my hair might (conceivably) matt.
I’m considering tatts.

(I dated a girl once;
who got a tatt
without telling me

and it threw me.)
My ambivalence wants to throw you—
or possibly protect you—it’s unsure.

My inner brat wants a plausible
reason, to breach the rules.
It wants love—settles for attention.

My trauma story
ain’t your trauma story—
yet is it?

1. Note to the compassionate reader: this is not a situation I am currently facing. I’m okay. ↩︎