Spinning

It is a revolving door, 
A spinning-too-fast 
Going-to-be-sick 
Merry-go-round. 
In and straight out again. 
Coming or going? 
Staying or leaving? 
Angry and/or grieving? 

A baby cries, wrenched 
From her mother’s bosom. 
A grown woman cries 
Into the void where 
Bosom was never proffered, 
Trying to find footing 
In a world where 
Need is clinginess, 
Love is suffocation, 
Independence is forbidden but 
Dependency is a drain 
On an empty breast. 

Rules must be obeyed 
Except by the exempt, 
And there is no winning 
For those deficient 
By default, nor 
Is there complaining, 
Because who dares 
Question the grace 
Of an angel 
Without themselves 
Being cast 
As the devil? 

Tears evaporate 
From proximity 
To the heat 
Of hell.