MATILDA

Paw perched pensively on my nose
She’ll be home soon, enriched by a bitter scold
“You better not have touched any of those!”
Eyes will droop in her direction, perplexed by anger
Why must I always do as I am told?

The room misshapen
Through my colour-lacking goggles
Ones that I cannot remove, for this is my vision
Her voice will puncture the quiet,
Anger and irritation
“You better not have touched any of those!”
Her voice a scold
Why must I always do as I am told?
“Get down from there!” she yells
My ears no longer filled with static
She looks unhappy, her eyes well
Why does she always scold?
Why must I always do as I am told?

Her eyes locked with mine, stinging and bold
My body lifts and lowers,
I must do what I am told
I leave my coat behind on the couch,
With no remorse for my mistress the grouch.

A poem I wrote for a class, this is draft number 2.

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