she picked at the cockroaches by her bed.
she picked them up everyday.
she swore she saw them smiling
as she pet them sweetly.

they were all she had.

she hadn't the money for cats,
so she was just the lady alone with her cockroaches.

she didn't much mind.
she loved them dearly.
& every time one of them passed,
a piece of her heart did too.

she made space for her little friends.
she named them. she loved them.

she loved them in a way that no one else ever loved her.

& she'd read her books coated
with years of debris over them.
& she'd dream.

she dreamed of what would've happened
if she had been married young.
maybe if she finished her dreams back in high school...

but no, no ph.d. for her,
no husband, no friends.
she followed the footsteps of her
god-forsaken mother,
reading god-forsaken books,
& talking to god-forsaken creatures.

she blows her nose in bed sheets.

if only, if only, if only ...
but lonely, lonely, lonely
instead.

perhaps, it could've been different.
perhaps, she could get free.
perhaps, she could be me.