neatly, row by row
we expect things to go, just so
an exact science
a perfect, synchronous dance
I’ve never quite felt that
things went according to plan
my to do list, neatly ticked
instead it was more like
ingredients poured into a bowl
mixed until it’s all
one and the same
at the end of the day, you end up with a cake
and it’s delicious and warm and colourful
who cares what it looked like to get here
if you already earned your slice
it snows every day you’re not around
I drive around memories of you
a cul-de-sac collection
the finest rose-coloured moments
when you always said the right thing
and everything else
every misstep or argument
swiftly forgotten
how often do we put people on pedestals
imaginations of the faces we project
the faces we wish we were
like a weight on your chest
acknowledge when it’s not yours to carry
just because it is heavy
preserve strength for the moments that matter
seek understanding in
the things you cannot change
for you have many, many years left
to do many, many great things
and there is no space in the cabin
for someone else’s luggage
how flowers bloom even when no one watches
how growth comes from deep within
whether there’s applause or not
seeing this horizon
of all the greatest things
I’m allegedly destined to be
it’s terrifying to imagine any of it
not coming true
like an anti-horoscope
knowing what you’re capable of
and not mustering the willpower
to grab at it
to know the fruit is there
the sweetest thing you may ever taste
but being afraid of heights
when you spend your days hoping for a very specific outcome
everything else can feel like a disappointment
celebrate the little things
as they slowly become bigger things
the unfortunate luck of being unlucky
in both what you control and what you can’t
I wonder which is harder to accept
I’ve been told a lot of my life that
luck pulses out of my fingertips
a magnetic field of good fortune
even as a child, I grew
believing my luck to be so
nature versus nurture
what if it was only
the belief in being positive
that made me this way?
what if the magic of being lucky
is in believing it exists at all?
backseat driver
we cruise through life and think that we are responsible
for everything that happens
for all the doors we don’t open
for all the windows we close
sometimes I feel so much for the way things were
a sense of loneliness that only I seem to recall
I listen to old songs
I watch the same movies, trying
to hold onto something I can’t touch
time passes
whether we acknowledge it or not
and all we can do is keep driving
how often do we forgive
the transgressions of others
before we forgive the ones
we commit against ourselves
spaghetti strap-sized scolding
girls used to get sent home for
their sunburnt shoulders
why would we make it so easy to ogle
why would we make it so worth looking at
how often were we taught that
someone else’s wandering gaze
was our fault
elleguyence 