wednesday june 7th 2023
the first time Reality came looking for me
there was nothing left to be found
lost in the darkness of my duvet
i whispered
i don’t feel safe
i don’t feel safe
i don’t feel safe
she’s not the kind of girl i can block and delete
she’s my mom my landlord my boss
the government the police
every living thing on our lonesome planet
floating in an endless universe
i am so small
curled up in a ball between four white walls
spinning
one morning, my mom texted me
a picture of a cityscape i did not recognize
its shapes and colours verging on invisibility
cloaked in a veil, dust bunny grey
i glanced outside my window and saw Reality
dressed for mass destruction under the sun
with a maraschino cherry shine
my roommate and i regressed to states that appeared infantile in our $3100 luxury cradle she cried and whined while i moaned as if i’d been pacified i must be deeply sick if the only cure that can replace a good enough mother or a lover’s embrace is a reminder that every living thing on our lonesome planet shares the same sun and sky and we’re all gonna die
the last time Reality came looking for me
i was ready to be found
through the smoke and toward the flames
she took my hand and asked
are you afraid?
we were never meant to survive
i whispered
walking through fire is breezy
when i am with you