Your mom treats objects like women!

I can't get this poem finished. It's really frustrating, but I guess that's what it's all about. Since it's been awhile, I'll post the disgusting half devoured skeleton of the poem for you to read. Enjoy! Remember, of course, that it's not finished:


My dress swelled on the threshold,
the wind silently invading my home
The doorjamb towered above me,
Every quiet immaculate good bye
with freckled lips and pale eyes
calm and chaotic crashing waves
Five steps down, no turning back,
and my feet wavered beneath me

BLARG. In other news, I finally got a desk set up in the house: