sometimes, i sing to myself
and pretend it's someone else
or
that an angel is sitting across from me, perched in my laundry basket
legs crossed, eyes closed,
pure
like a cloud, listening to me like i listen to the rain
when i finish, she says
"your voice is just like heaven."
my friend brought me flowers when my dog died
i put on my saddest smile. shed a few tears for her
told her "thank you, i love you"
though i felt
nothing had changed.
now, when i look at them, sitting so kindly atop my desk, leaking recycled joy and
purple dye
it takes me a second to remember where they came from.
not a lot feels real to me right now.
sometimes i dream
that i am in the hospital
bed ridden
coughs echoing around me and birds singing loud enough to pierce the cold and the winter fog on the windows.
i make a list of everyone who visits me and vow to bake them all cookies or paint them pictures of oceans
so that i can keep them around for longer.
i am
the old woman they tell you about in fairy tales.
the one who lives alone in a cabin in the woods;
casting spells and brewing potions,
waiting
for a princess to show up at her doorstep so she can give her something magical
and tell her "be brave."
some days, i am also that princess.
singing and spinning in pretty dresses made of golden silk and soft petals
wishing i were somewhere else.
but most days
i am wishing i were
someone else.
someone tall with rougher hands and big eyes or
a less awkward laugh.
with bangs and a smile that didn't stretch from one side of the earth to another
someone who reads her poetry out loud in the centre of a crowded room and never feels sad when nobody listens.
she isn't scared at night
but she always has someone to hold her hand anyway.
if i asked her how it felt not to feel so lonely, she would tell me "it's better to be yourself"
