All the Things that Start with the Letter Maybe

she loves me

i pluck the petal from its delicate stem
and let it flutter to the ground like
a feather or a bird
like something i can pretend is meant to fall
because i have fallen faster and faster
and i do not want to fall alone

she loves me not

i turn to flowers and children's games
because doubt is like a second skin,
an exoskeleton,
a supposed shield against falling
but the petals collect on the ground like--

she loves me

--fallen toy soldiers, like shattered glass
like my heart when she looks at someone else
like my tears when i am too scared
to speak, to dream, to wonder

she loves me not

if i am anything more than this
than falling and falling and shattering
i am not a bird, not a feather, not a petal
i am--

she loves me

a fool or a cynic or a foolish cynic
or someone who is just spiraling
and needs to stop this

she loves me not

childish game of lovers and losers
because in my heart of hearts i

she loves me

already know the answer.

close your eyes and count to ten

ignore the way you instinctively choke

feel your breath reach from your sinuses
to the tips of your toes

ignore the air rushing from the holes in your skin

if happiness is a choice
choose to be happy
just smile and choose to be happy

and ignore the voice in you saying it's not fair
it's not fair
it's not--

fair that it's the victim who has to be the bigger person
or the one who smiles through the pain
because it's only a problem if i make it one
and how dare i make it one?

i'm happy
i'm happy
i'm happy

i'm happy to hold you accountable
because if i don't no one else will
and it is not a sin to know i deserve better
that i deserve

in terms of love
i would describe myself as an addict
wrapping my lips around your
nicotine flavored thumb

i remember the first time i got high off of you
i cried the whole way coming down

and i feel myself craving you like
an ache just behind my gums
or right above my throat
or deep in my chest

smoke poured out of my mouth and
we laughed with red-rimmed eyes

the addiction tells me to regret it
to regret quitting you cold turkey
when i know even the smallest dose of you
shaves years off my lifespan

i coughed and wheezed
and you thought i was begging for more

in terms of love
i would consider myself an addict
but i don't miss you as much as i'm
having withdrawals

i threw out my last pack of cigarettes
by blocking your number

"i've always wanted to be a mother"

i sit on my knees in front of you like
a good daughter or
a bad dog begging for scraps
and i stare up at you with big eyes
as you retell me your story

"my mother always criticized me"

i feel the silence in the hollows of your cheeks
when your husband batters me with his disgrace
his mockery of your daughter
and i nod along as you
show off your still-shiny scars

"she said she wished i had a daughter just like me"

no stranger says we look alike but
i see you in my reflection because
we are both bruised and broken people
who were never taught how to love
or how to ask for it

"and i said i hope so too"

i sit just in front of you but
i cannot reach the softness of your palms or
the warmth of your chest
and i left to fend for myself from your
towering giant of a husband

"so i could be a better mother than her"

i choke back tears
and criticism that feels like begging
your mother was always a negative premise
but is that so much worse than
no presence at all?

dip the quill in the inkwell
of my heart and veins
and doodle star-colored hearts
in the margins of my tongue
to speak in glitter

am i making a mockery of myself?

i lick the acrylic off of old paintings
and chew on the graphite of love letters
to speak a language of love and beauty
to make my words rose petals

is this really art
or a desperate cry for attention?

i bathe in scripts and
rosewater scented with makeup
to absorb pagentry into my skin

at what point am i learning
or just consuming to consume?
what is beautiful about this?

i embrace poetry written with
tulips and diamonds

i make poetry my bedfellow for what?
is my desperation for artistry obvious
or does it just make my work just slightly to the left
like a bad poltergeist?

i am showered with doubt but i write anyway

maybe i am the starving artist
stealing scraps of praise like a criminal
but if there's even a chance i'm not
why would i want to keep this lovely thing
locked in the basement of my heart?

This has a beautifully melancholic and introspective tone. The imagery of a flowerbed of doubt is especially striking—combining something natural and delicate with uncertainty.

i haven't done laundry in three months

i feel the filth just beneath my skin like
mold in a cut
i am as equally helpless to stop it

why haven't i taken my medication yet
why does this feel like giving up

hours in bed
hours being scared of all that's coming
hours doing nothing to prepare

why is this the cycle i'm stuck in
why is it so hard to get up

it feels like learned helplessness
like i'm so used to struggling
i forgot how to be fine

why can't i just be normal
why can't i just be normal

and everyone's shame and judgment
feel like rocks are in my duvet cover
and i couldn't get up if i tried

why am i so terrified to ask for help
when they offer it so often with pyrite teeth

i don't think times were ever simpler
i think the world just never took my cries seriously
because children just cry sometimes
and the best thing we can do is to
teach them to stop

i remember sitting criss-cross-applesauce
and pulling out my hair in chunks
you kept screaming at me to stop but
that just made me scream louder

i am still a child in the way i
long for warm arms to wrap around me
or i crave to hear soft praise
but mostly in the way i
never stop being so afraid

i remember the sound of glass breaking
as you smashed the piggy bank mom bought me
you told me i deserved it
and i idolized punishment then

i am an adult with
a child mind with
grown-up thoughts
tell me how to feel put together
like i am cohesive, human, and real

i remember you telling me that
adulthood was problems and loneliness
but you never told me that
childhood was even worse

i think of the term arrested development a lot
mostly because i feel trapped in
a time where i was told i should be innocent
but i never was so
i keep searching for the feeling i was promised

i remember hiding in my room
to cry for the first time
i should have known then
that was the beginning of the end

wake
the brain is at normal function
the body aches for sleep

i stare at the discoloration on my ceiling
and trace it with my eyes until
my eyes are heavy and giving up or
my hands itch for an ill-timed distraction

i feel this presence outside my door that
probably has no basis in reality
it feels malicious,
dangerous even

nrem-1
the lightest stage of sleep
short and easily disturbed

i never know the moment restlessness turns into
drooping hazy eyes that can't see straight anymore
that sag under their own weight like top-heavy blooms
and then they close of their own accord and i drift away

until the eventual moment where i
jerk awake
as if i heard some sort of noise
but my room is always empty

nrem-2
the body begins to slow down
brief bursts of memory consolidation

i start to rest
the day floats away from me
i slip away piece by piece
to find safe place

but a brief flash of memory
feels like fear
and i am powerless to stop the drifting
even as something could be watching me

nrem-3
it becomes difficult to awaken
the body begins to heal

i prepare for battle against my will
my wounds slowly close like gold filling
the cracks of a broken pot
and it's easy just to stop thinking

but i would not wake if someone were to grab me
if someone were to press claws into my skin
press on my throat until something pops
how can i let myself do this when it's out there

nrem-4
the deepest sleep
dreamless

nothing bad happens
no thoughts
no visions of the being by my bed
waiting

quiet
as if i'm not there
as if it's not there
as if we were all made up all along

rem
the eyes dart from side to side
the muscles are paralyzed

my dreams drift to
apocalypses and
gruesome violence
i can't unsee

when i wrench awake
i can't move
and it feels like i'm falling
into the maw of the beast

wake
the brain is at normal function
the body aches for sleep

the falling stops and i'm
staring at the discoloration on my ceiling
my hands twitch for an ill-timed distraction
and my eyes drift to the door

it feels like forever until
my heart slows down
i feel this presence outside my doors
but i try to fall asleep again

when it comes to my future
the first person i think of is you
and the frown lines in the corners of your lips
something inside of me aches
and it smells like betrayal

you lean on my shoulder
and i hold your heart as it weeps
it feels foreign in my hands

i am atlas holding up this home
you rely on me for late nights and
house-cleaning and
everything you can't do
you call me your backup plan

but i cannot stay in your horizon forever
i have my own sky to find
why do i feel so sick for leaving you

can i trust you to find a way
a way to replace all of me
a way to stop my absence from ruining you
a way to make this work
it cannot be my burden to make this work

i will leave you one day father
if you cannot survive the shift
i have to leave you to drown