i. i remember
a failed snow fort
a pink snowsuit
lying in the snow
moments after the bell
signaling the end of recess
it was so very quiet.
ii. i remember
handwriting in pen
ink smearing on the page on my hand
because i am left-handed
and the pens sucked in elementary.
maybe because it’s sunday night
or because it’s raining outside
i don’t know what to say to you anymore
except maybe “i’m sorry”
i’m living too much in my own head again
and now i’m nervous whenever i’m around anyone
and outside feels like a cage i want to escape
i wish i could declutter my heart
like i declutter my apartment
in summertime,
we played hide and seek
in corners of our cluttered houses
even though you were afraid
of basements and staircases and dark spaces
i. once upon a time a little girl saw masks
floating over her bed in the dark
but she wasn’t afraid.
ii. growing up brings all sorts of weight to it.
and in the dark comes doubts and stress and
still frames from horror movies and
all the things that can’t be cured
with a dreamcatcher.
“normal” used to be
bedtime at nine,
up early for
saturday morning cartoons.
somewhere along the line
“normal” became
drinking coffee
at three in the morning,
and ignoring
the alarm clock.
the curve of her
could be broken down into
mathematical equations printout
light and shadow charcoal on canvas
complicated words from the thesaurus
pixels or puzzle pieces.
a guitar,
out of tune,
ringing out
reminds you
of words to a song
you can’t understand.
you’re distracted by shadows
i’m distracted by the freckles on your face
the designs in your eyes
smeared lipstick
you’re letting the little things weigh you down
it’s keeping you from dancing in the rain
while i am soaked through
the satellites are bright tonight
somewhere above the city lights
so very far, catch a falling star
to prove they are still where they are
though clouds or pride hide them from sight.
progression
from point
A to B
nonsensical
climbing stairs
to go down
