effeuiller la marguerite
a white petal
feels a firm tug:
they love me.
eight-month-old smiles
have parted lips and a pink, lolling tongue
that taste the laughter as it rushes by
and the milky giggles as they bubble up
from the slightest tickle of
a rounded belly.
they love me not.
eighteen-year-old smiles
are a cool facade,
slicked in red lipstick
and held together by cheap superglue
that I keep in the back pocket
of my favorite ripped jeans.
they love me.
our rosy cheeks and breathless grins
are forever immortalized
in the palm-sized Polaroids
(the date penned seven months ago)
on my bedroom wall,
to remind me that good times
do exist.
they love me not.
the invitation never reached my hands,
but it’s okay,
I love spending time by myself
anyways
snuggled under a blanket
that protects me from
you and everyone else.
they love me.
happy birthday!
I feel special as I open another gift
and beam at the store-bought,
material item you knew I wanted
so very badly.
they love me not.
every now and then,
we have a verbal disagreement—
I was being too passive-aggressive,
you were tired after a hard shift—
but it’s resolved with
a long talk, a box of tissues,
and many hugs
because anger is transient
and family is for life.
they love me.
today is a good day,
it’s pouring rain outside
but we are going out to brunch
and I look forward to
nonsensical conversation,
a hot cup of spearmint tea,
and a delicious meal—
eggs sunny-side up, of course.
even though my stomach
can only tolerate baby-sized bites,
I’m really glad I’m
with you.
they love me not.
irritation is boiling
under my skin
and no, you did nothing wrong
you did nothing at all
and that’s why
I’m mad,
so please leave me alone to
scratch at my itches
(but please don’t leave me alone).
they love me not.
sometimes I feel like
I’m trapped behind
a glass wall,
screaming and bleeding
from my everyday battles,
only it’s a one-way mirror
that conceals the blood
and mutes the noise.
in actuality,
nothing is wrong
(physically)
but when my eyes open
after a long night of sleep
and sunlight squeezes through the blinds,
the nightmare begins.
they love me not.
yesterday I saw many things.
a young woman stepped out of her car
and offered to help an old man
carry home his groceries,
the news reported the fourth
homicide of the week,
and the tree outside my front window
lost its last golden leaf.
everything around me is cycling,
and yet my world remains
very still.
I think the last time it moved,
the genuine smile of an
innocent child
morphed into a forged signature
because her heart forgot how to breathe.
have you ever wondered,
if a mind shatters
in beautiful agony
and no one is around to hear it,
does it make a sound?
it’s actually quite loud
and I can tell you,
it sounds a lot like
they love me not.
Three two one bang
He moaned in pain.
“About time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty,” said a honeyed voice. High-pitched with the slightest southern drawl. Her voice.
“Where are we?” he slurred. His tongue felt foreign in his mouth, coated with a sour aftertaste. I remember meeting for drinks, and…
Nothing. Total blackout.
Snickering rung in his ears. “Rohypnol’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
Something cool pressed against his left cheek. It was a soothing touch compared to the biting at his wrists and ankles, he noted with frantic interest. Managing to lift a heavy eyelid, he caught a flash of metal. Is that-
She dug the revolver’s muzzle hard into his skin. “Sweetheart, you’ve got three tries to convince me why I shouldn’t put this bullet through that cheating little head of yours,” she said with a smiling façade. “If you can, you'll keep it. Scout's honor.”
So that’s what this is about. “Babe,” he said carefully, eyeing the weapon, “you’re upset with the situation, I get it. But this is murder we’re talking about. You can’t just-” A snort interrupted his words.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll work out the nitty-gritty details. But what about you? Do you know where we are?” His eyes shifted to the surroundings, drinking in a scene of decayed wooden walls. A whiff of forest musk hit his nose as she cocked the gun.
It was the old, lichen-crusted cabin they had stumbled upon by chance during a hike gone wrong. Miles away from civilization. Fuck.
“Two.”
A loon cried out in the distance, and he sent up a silent prayer.
“Look, you might need help for being a complete lunatic who kidnaps people for breaking up with you-”
A few strides and his nose stared down the barrel of the gun once more. “You’re at one,” she snarled.
“-but I still love you,” he croaked in desperation. “I’m so sorry for what I did, and I beg you, please take back my worthless ass. We could make it right this time. I know that at least some small part of you feels the same.” A couple tears even rolled down his face.
Her face softened, and she lowered the weapon. She moved forward and sat on his lap, straddling his waist with her legs. A look of longing itched at her face.
“I loved you so much,” she murmured, tilting forward and firmly pressing her mouth against his. A sweet, succulent taste. She pulled back and licked her lips. “That could convince me.”
She bought it. He let loose a breathy tremble, and his muscles shouted from the release of tension. “Now, you said-”
The gun pushed against his chin and he swallowed the rest of his sentence. Her gaze was cool now, as crisp as the empty breeze that rustled through the glassless window frame across the room. Wisps of her silky hair tickled his cheek as she leaned in close.
“Well, isn’t that a shame, sugar,” whispered the velvet voice. “I guess I lied.”
Bang.
