It’s Babylon in my head. Nothing makes sense; there are voices shooting from every directions. Doubts hit like bullets. Fear is feather-soft. Bang, bang! Another hope is dead.
If I could, I would elect you as president of my mind. Then maybe you could find out why despair is permanently erect. I pop tears like viagra. How much more? I am old with thought, weary of trying to stay atop the quicksand of my imagination.
For years I have been beaming like a Carebear, crashing concerns like Niagra. I am not Thursday’s child; that’s Daddy. How far do I have to go? All those years I didn’t flow and now we know why.
You know, now, breathing isn’t a struggle anymore. Laughter eludes me no longer. I am not crazy! It’s like finding a tiny crack in your bucket: so that’s why it was always empty in the morning! So Mother, please don’t cry. It’s over. I have hidden all my blades. I am hungry now. My hair is long. It is brown and soft and real. I am fine. I have found the secret to being fine.
But my memory is notorious. So if one day I should go… how would you remember me? It worries me. Some say that my poetry induces tears. Perhaps I should I write about rainbows instead. Maybe that would make you happier. Would that make me happier? All I know is that if I go, I want to be more than a sad poem.
And what if this a trap? If I smile, and the wind changes, will I stay like this forever? Can I afford to be happy forever?
You know, your ambitions for me are deflating.
Forget a career.
Just make sure you always have insurance.
Just make sure you are not alone. Why are you always alone?
It makes me laugh. Ironic, isn’t it? This is when I laugh. You think I am going to be a spinster. My own mother doubts I can love another. That’s how I know it’s bad.