she told herself
she would not do this again.
go wandering alone
in search of company.
because isn’t that just what you find
when you stay still
don’t change
like stumbling on quicksand
isn’t that just how you get lost
stumble off cliffs.
lost,
she says.
tasting the word in her mouth,
drier than sand,
but almost welcome now.
gone,
she says.
they cannot find me.
broken,
she says.
small,
she says.
but there is too much of me
for anyone to handle
too little for me to care about.
she told herself
she would not do this again.
go flying around
like there’s something better up there.
there is nothing better
but there is also nothing worse.
she told herself
the monsters she dreams up
are so much worse
than the ones under her bed.
she told herself
she would not break again.
well.
here we are.
I Never Discuss
the monsters under my bed. They live on dustmotes. It's getting pretty scudzy under there. Maybe I'll throw some potting soil under there to keep them happy. Or, at least content. - slc