She hates that she is spineless:
Starved of strength
Emancipated.

She hates that she is passive:
She has two legs
But cannot stand for anything
When faced with a loud voice
And menacing words
That threaten the tranquility of her dream-world;
The dream-world
Where conflict is banned
And people always have the best intentions
Because in essence man is good.

She hates that
When faced with a thousand possibilities
Tensions rise
And gears stick
Creak
Metal on metal
Straining
Pushing
As she tries not to succumb to her nature
But in spite of it all
Her head overheats
And she overloads
The perpetual screaming kettle, *** boiling over, and volcanic eruption
All in one

Tiny salted droplets of shame
Race down flushed and swollen cheeks
As her mental fists
Painstakingly punch her essence
Into action
Fueling a transformation with
"Inadequate"
"Failure"
And
"Lazy"

A transformation
That never sticks:
At least not as well as
Her lack of faith in herself.

Sometimes
The mask cracks
Muddy tectonic plates have dried into dust on my face
Flaked off dream dust of the pretty girl
Who lies with a look
And truths with a song

It chips off
And is done
Gone away
Vanished
And beneath?

A tiny bird cheeps feebly
A lion cub fiercely squeaks
A cricket chirps
And the old wooden gate creaks on its hinges.
Berries ripen on the bush
The fox bares her teeth with a snarl
The birch trees shush in the breeze
And the world is one indescribable play-date.

The phone tinkles
And blinks with excitement
Dancing with a toddler's anticipation
Of sweets on her birthday
With a special message
That the girl had shoved
To the swamps
On the outermost edges
Of her consciousness
And stomped into the murky depths
Without even stopping
To watch the bubbles from its gasping mouth
Surface on the sludgey waters

Disturbed, the girl stretches her dream-numbed arms
Like new rubber bands
And for a moment shifts back into the blanket cave
Snuggling her pillow
In a half-hearted gesture of farewell
Before clawing at the bedside table
For the ticking bomb that beckons her from sleep.

Unholy light assaults her groggy sleep-puffed eyes
As the phone trembles enthusiastically in her hand

One year anniversary

Her whole body winces
Teeth grit, vise-like, as she tries to shove the memory down
Fingers scramble at the stubby keys

Delete. Where is delete?

Reminder deleted
The phone seems saddened

If only it were that easy.

In an effort to comfort her
The phone slides into bed beside the girl
And keeps her company
As she stares at the knots in the wood on the ceiling
Which trail across the inky sky of her memory
Like the comets of a night picnic
That was labored over
And planned out
By a boy with high hopes, bright smiles, and a haunted spirit
Who drew out her optimist and romantic with naive skill
Only to be betrayed by the duality of her being:
Her realist and her pessimist;
The downside of new love and long distances.

The phone sighs a ping.

Just wanted to wish you safe travels before you head off
He sent

The irony of timing was not lost on her
In spite of her fuzzy morning brain

His message on the phone which she had cradled
As he told her a story to fall asleep to
The phone they had talked through
To tell the minute details of monotonous lives
To send messages that gave butterflies
And lit up faces with beaming sun smiles
The phone that she saw controlling her actions
When he was a world away
The phone that showed her a stranger she committed herself to
The phone that had outright asked her:
"Are you breaking up with me?"
The phone that had whispered "Yes, I think I am"
And then echoed hours of his tears
And confessions of depression
That pierced her guilty conscience to the core
But strengthened her shoddily constructed resolve

The phone into which
He had tenderly placed
A reminder for her
On the night she decided
To be young and silly and foolish
For once in her life:
The night she regretted
Three months later when she said goodbye
And twelve months later
When it reminded her
Of how painful young and stupid can be.