when the rainy days get to be too much
i hope you look
and see me, us
wrapped in each other’s arms
promising our lives to each other
swirling around almost losing our grip, but
inevitably slamming into the slick pavement
together, alas
in the rainbow that follows.
when the rainy days get to be too much i look and i see you.
my existence has become of series of i don’t knows
favorite color or song? idontknow
but it’s not just the favorites anymore.
it’s the are you okay’s? the do you understand’s? the any more questions?
and it’s not just the the’s
but it’s also
what’s? why’s? how’s?
the what’s wrong with ? the why are you?
how did this happen?
idon’tknow,
but not because i don’t know but because
i don’t know if i want you to know.
what if you think it’s wrong? why would want to hear my answer? how do i even say it?
you see it’s the what’s, how’s, and why’s
they make you not know.
you know?
i dream about that day
when the sun in all its glory
baked my young skin, made
my black hair hot as coals.
on this day
we skipped, and giggled, and basked in our
independence
my hands sticky
my shirt stained the color of the rainbow,
popsicle that engrossed my child brain in its drug like sweetness
stuck oblivion because
nothing could possibly ruin this day.
but then i’m distracted
when the storm clouds come tumbling in and the high wears off.
i noticed them gawking at my rainbow popsicle
barely old enough to form sentences
but my dreams construct the following
where. was. my. mom?
on this day
who. was. i. with.
on this day
at least my popsicle is good
but it’s melting everywhere
because it too fucking hot
it’s syrup won’t stop rolling down – my cheeks
and where is my mom?
who are you?
why am i with you?
please, bring me to my mom.
i. want. my. mom.
i should’ve chosen chips instead
The Questionable Poet 