my future feels like
mascara
dripping down my panicked face
quietly imminent
i never forgot the way he laughed at me
that day
7 months ago
and though my switchblade heart
moves forward into what will be
i feel myself retrograde into his closed arms
and although good days seem bright and scintillescent
and the space feels infinite, full of hope
i still feel myself retrograde into who i once was
because doubt is not a skin that is easily shed
i retrograde
because moving forward feels like
constriction
feels like
stepping into an icebox on a winter day
i retrograde because
my mind is so broken that backwards is the only way to
move
on.