Call me Miss Cleo

      I’ll read your cards
    
                  Over the phone

Sometimes I wonder
If it didn’t happen the way it happened

What if it happened now not then?
Would it have turned out the way
The way we both expected it to?

...I sit
        screaming
inside this
              glass
              box
           hoping one day
    my voice
                 will finally
         shatter
             it
                and set me free...

Come over and get your things
I’ve cleaned out your drawer
It’s all by the door

Come get your things
I’ve already changed the sheets

How can you switch off what you felt for me?
You told me it was so deep
How do you turn it off?

Could you teach me one more thing?
Please
How do you make it stop
This aching rip in my chest

I don't know how to do it
Can't catch a break, or my breath
I'm begging how do you do it?
I want to shut this off to

You say I'm not in control of my emotions
I told you I feel everything all the time
Scale from 1-10 I'm an 8 minimum
You won't stop talking.
Tell me how well you control yours
Only because you can flip them on or off

Personally that sounds weak to me
That's not control of them
That's ignoring them
Real control is feeling them and not losing my mind, well anymore than I already have.
Real control isn't flipping them off
I'm not just in control but I have maid friends with them.

When you were gone
I slept on your side of the bed

Now that it's over
I'll have to wash the sheets

It's never been so hard to walk
Like stepping thru concrete
Soles of my shoes melting into the tar
Pads of my feet growing roots
deeper with every step
I didn't want to leave any of you this time
Ripped from the desert
Now in the air
My roots grow deep