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Jonathan N. Wakeling 1980 (Calgary)

Glossy magazines with colour spreads of the summer collection.
Soap operas, same comforting characters week in week out.
Changing channel. Pet’s world. Chef’s delight. Dolphins.
Interiors. Home, my dear cocoon.
I lavish my sanctuary with cool soothing pictures.
Abstracts mostly, something to meditate on.
The blues and greens from a forgotten childhood,
Tears me into a million splinters coming to terms with
The freedom.
The dull life, but one that I can relate to.
Nothing fast. Just regular. Work and back.
Social is not unbearable or boring either.
It’s about time miss perfect dropped out of the sky,
That’s another story of solitude.
I will admit to lying awake at night worrying about
Nothing in particular.
But if I said that to anyone they might recommend I
Visit a shrink.

I don’t want to be seen to be that.
Give me my soft fluffy cushions any day.
Let me cuddle up to my teddy-bear,
My raincoat, my favourite jersey, my cosy blanket,
And be me.
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Submitted by jnwakeling on April 07, 2021

49 sec read

Jonathan N. Wakeling

Artist, Psychologist, and Writer in Harare, Zimbabwe more…

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    "Comforting" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/97204/comforting>.

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