The Net

I'm no longer a flat to let,
a new coat to get,
a lesson to be learned, yet,
a one-hour shock,
something happy to be bought,
a therapist for grief,
who will curve my soul in low relief,
a dog to the vet,
a crime lab of dreams forever wet.

Out of the net,
there's no bait,
no "How long do I have to wait?".

I can draw my self-portrait
listening to my voice,
instead of everyone else's noise.

Out there,
in the middle of a hard way
leading to a soft land,
nothing to wear,
so much to share.