Critter Critiques (July 13th, 2023)
The moths in my dirty clothes, they have some concerns. They say my home is dusty. It is cold and it is dark.
Practically unlivable, they call it. I say though "It is perfect for you. Why do you complain? When It is exactly how you'd like?"
They say it is because I am not a moth, and this is my home. They remind me they are temporary visitors, that they will soon leave, and my home still wont be suitable for me.
They tell me I am human, I need warmth and light. What is kind to the moths will only kill me.
The black widow in my rafters, she has some complaints. She says my home is too quiet, it is always still, and too empty.
Not for someone like me, she says, almost like my mother would. I say "It is perfect for you, strong boards for your webs, and hiding spots for your young. Why do you care?"
She says it is because I am not a spider, and this is my home. She reminds me that when winter comes, she will find a home elsewhere, she will be gone, and this will still be my home.
She tells me I am human. I need comfort, movement, and company. What helps the spider will only poison me.
I think it is almost comforting, their concern for me. They are passers-by in my home, they do not need to care for me. To worry.
My house is open, and I do not wish them harm, they may take what they need with no conditions. And yet they choose to help me.
To remind me that I have needs that can be met without sacrifice. Without caring more for others.
In my home, they prefer the dark, but they quite enjoy the shadows, so they do not mind my lights.
In my home, they spider prefers the quiet, but she says the noise is good for her babies, so she does not mind when I play music.
In my home, they prefer the stillness, but the sound of laughter is the sound of safety, so they are welcoming and kind to those I call mine.
The moths in my dirty clothes, the black widow in my rafters.
They are visitors, but they are not forever, and they know that.
So they take the time to remind me that this is my home, my clothes, my rafters, and if my house is only good for them, even long after they leave, it will never truly be mine.
So I turn on the heater and keep my reading light plugged in. I play classics to study, and pop songs to dance, and I bring my friends over, let my family in.
I learn to make it my home, to appreciate it for how it is, and make it my own. And I promise, to the moths and the spiders and to myself, to never surrender my comfort for those who are only temporary
(poem(?) i wrote like three years ago, right after my whole life went belly up cause of a break up. i found it in an old notebook and figured it might help someone)
