"If" (Patreon)

I tasted beer when I was 7

Laughter as I spit and gargle mouthwash

I got lost in clothing racks at department stores

Wishing someone would panic

“Where are you!” “If

you ran away again…”

In silence I follow her home

I smell black coffee at 6am

The hallway is warm and sunlight masquerades as ghosts

The closet light is out

An excuse to say good morning

I shouldn’t interrupt the news

Belly empty and head buried beneath the floorboards

Papier-mâché hands force down hate like sandpaper

“You’d be so pretty

if…” “You’d be so worth it

if…” “You’d be so lovable

if…”

If

and I met for drinks

She filled my head with sugar, pressed sweet possibilities like cinnamon on my tongue

If

said she was limitless

“If

only I’d done this,” “If

only I’d been that,” “If

only I had something more to offer than this fragile spirit hanging like dirty laundry between rotten flesh and sticky bones.”

If

promised the ghosts in the hallway and the papier-mâché hands would forget

If

promised to be a good girl was to eat praise for breakfast, picking words of approval and vows of protection from your teeth

If

and I made bracelets out of beads and braided each other’s hair

She taught me how to be her

I smiled at the dinner table

No plate, only body-heated chairs pointing crooked fingers

“If only you were better…”

I tasted lies when I was 17