A Spider
I sit alone and watch a small spider
spin webs of security without thought,
without any malice or bad intention it waits
until a fly gets inevitably caught.
Then, it eats the fly slowly, mindfully
until the small piece of protein is gone,
it then returns to fixing its web again
without any intruding thought of right or wrong.
It appears through cracks and openings
without meaning to cause a fright,
to the pale white person seeing eight spread legs
reflecting in beautiful light,
it has no concept of love or hate
a bit like me, it just wanders aimlessly, unaware, innocent
hoping its web will catch its bait.
I do not have eight legs, but my mind is like a spider
wandering from corner to corner, every dusty place,
now inhabited by cobwebs and dead flies
like my own abandoned living space.
I am not a bad person, honest, please hear
please don’t cast me aside with derision,
or squash me with your size
I’m just a small, small spider,
through my small, small eyes.
This poem is from the collection 'Broken Doll' - bit.ly/brokendollmt