'Sorry'
a Saturday morning poem.
I remember being small wishing that I were tall. I remember being weak wishing that I were strong. I remember being angry wishing that I were loved in the way that I asked to be not in the way that 'should be enough.' I morphed and I managed. I muddled and maintained. to remember how I was, is to remember nothing about me at all. sometimes I wonder, in the deadest of hours, if I am truly here. sometimes I wonder, whether the floors I stand on are the same laminated, lack-luster-in-a-trailer like gameboard tiles. sometimes I wonder, if am I still there walled in with you. that this just a quarter turn-to-the-left too far from being safe. equidistant from the start at all times. paralyzed by the thought that you are here but, wondering if I am. or will the room turn and empty me still spilling, falling onto the floor like her pills dumping me into the crevices of her trailer staining the various plastics parading as something real in a home on wheels.