I called the rain and it came. Night alone was insufficient.
Come on baby
To witness and permit my dis/quiet. My cheerless lullaby.
La, la, la, la, la
I sigh my side of the story. The dis/respect and dis/honesty. A sincere betrayal. My ridiculous indulgences. On repeat.
Baby take my hand
Loved falsely. Without strength and without fruit.
Baby I’m your man
Evicted moon and runaway stars. I laugh at the poets’ dependence on the subcelestial. Ha! I am the fool with avian heart. Writing per requirement. (By far my weakest drabble!) A dead end bitterness.
Don’t fear the reaper
I am seven years old at my cousin’s McDonald’s birthday party and I am Happy™.
I cheer the birthday girl as she opens and aahs her tower of unmemorable gifts.
Her Mommy materializes a promise pink suitcase. White-painted block letters parade purpose: Going to Grandma’s. My hard initiation to presents-inside-presents follows. Footed pajamas and a day outfit. A pouch with lip-gloss and her very own bath things. A favorite picture book to conjure candy-coated dreams.
I wish her smile to go the way of doomed balloons in the corner.
I wish I didn’t delight in this hive inside my heart.