No Othering

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We must sit alone through This
No one has our back

Not forsaking sunlight then
Nor the sturdiness of these vintage legs

Doors behind us closed, by intent
Facing East, where will our colors lead us

What mystery does the morning hold
What certainty does twilight promise

Beige

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It's a nice place
It's muted, but purposely so
To any who'd wander by, I'd say
To make things make sense
I've worked hard
I've these eyes, after all
There is one thing, though
There is the question of the door
I cannot easily enter
I cannot easily leave