For the first time in years

I removed the grimy plastic beetles

that have taken up nesting,

blasting Mood-Booster Hits

and Recommended For You Playlist #1

on the trampoline

at midnight, tired

of blaring euphoria,

I tore them out,

planned to leave.

I stopped

for frogs.

They were singing a gentle hymn,

crickets humming in intertwined lullabies,

sunless sky bright with clouds,

I think, quiet,

I could live without

the help of plastic beetles.

#poetry

Text Laura, Avery, Allison, Max, Melisa, Charlie, Kendall

Work on reel

Find voice teacher

Start voice lessons

Doctor (find one)

Donate blood

Donate my eggs?

Call power company

Email Dave

Read more and don't feel guilty alone

Finish Harry Potter

Write for fun

Become a nun

Move into a cave in Scotland

Take up hermitude

Grow fins

Also claws

Be happy all alone

Be social

Text Laura, Avery, Allison, Max, Melisa, Charlie, Kendall

I am scared. I

do not want to die.

I don't know many

people who do.

I love my mom + dad.

Avery is a very good

person and friend.

The rain is

buffetting the car,

coming down in torrents.

There is thunder +

lightning. Other cars

(page turn)

are stopped, too, all

blinkers on.

Like a warm + comforting

gathering of strangers.

After backwards crossovers

and terrifying toe jumps

with a whole lot of fish-flopping

onto well-worn ice,

there was always IHOP

every Saturday at 1.

Mommy and Grandma Helen and I

would squeeze into that just-too-narrow booth

with the broken springs

and shredded faux-leather-not-really-pretending-to-be-leather cushions

farthest away from the smoking section

(Mommy insisted)

and I would ask for a Rooty Jr. with strawberries and lots of whipped cream,

and Mommy would get a Belgian waffle,

and Grandma Helen,

whose very favorite restaurant was IHOP,

the International House of Pancakes,

would proudly order

liver and onions.

and let's incubate.

If I am feeling frightened for the future,

I will talk to you about eggs.

The white oval kind,

preferably lain by chickens,

or ostriches,

or geese.

I have been incubating for too long,

and I fear I cannot remain an egg forever.

I am going to crack

not completely against my will.

I've just done such an excellent job

staying so smooth and intact

it's a shame to see me

shatter at the edges,

seeping gold until I'm left

with shells of a honeyed past.

Now I am in a frying pan,

and truthfully I do not know

where to go from here,

for I really do not like eggs -

eating them, that is -

so for all I know

the next thing that happens

is that the egg magically turns

sunny-side up,

but even then I don't know what sunny-side up

really looks like, so let's just say

my future is uncertain.

I am an egg and I cannot incubate forever and I've cracked

although the metaphor dies because wouldn't an incubated egg hatch

unless it was destined for some cruel trick of fate?

But I have cracked and I don't know

if I'm the shells or the inner part

because I thought I was the whole

but clearly that cannot be the case

so let me just frizzle here for a second

feeling jealous of all those fluffy chickens

and talk to you about eggs.

She peppers her speech

with laughter-lilting nothings

masking emotions

behind layers of let's pretend.

Let's pretend, she begs,

that I'm filled to the brim

with joy and friendship,

with a side of sunny-side up sentences

swirling in thick laughter-inflected pauses!

Pauses crack into silences,

the way her face looks

like a dead puppet,

mouth wide and limp,

glittering eyes empty,

relaxed and numb.

I cannot speak to the living as though they were dead.

I cannot mourn a warm body.

And so I am left,

an unwanted hope,

smiling up at what is gone.

Go trap a lover early on

with your youth and vivacity and charming personality

because once college ends

the world ceases to be your oyster

and you become embroiled

in office environments with

married people

and those are off the table,

you know,

so really, honey,

you've got to strike

while the iron is hot.

So now I'm desperate,

waiting on a text back to prove

I'm a worthy mating candidate,

glued to my phone for validation -

I have been for a shameful amount of time now -

and I think the worst part

is that I really am just lonely,

nothing deeper,

and I really cannot blame my mother

for telling me to hurry up

and try my luck

being vulnerable.

But I could stop if you told me

you didn't care about me

and I should skedaddle

right on out of your life -

that really would be just fine,

I promise,

I would lick my wounds

for a week or so

and maybe kiss some different-colored lips

for variety and an ego boost

and maybe download Tinder

for a day before abashedly deleting it

but as it is,

I must admit I would rather

try this out with you

so please just cut me off,

don't leave me

suspended mid-heartbeat

in my own delusion.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow,

I find her perfectly preserved

and waiting for me

in a world under my finger,

just outside my grasp,

so close that I know

this will be the moment

that I finally touch her.

This will be the moment

that my grey eyes

joyfully drowning in blue light

finally see her love,

real and raw and warm,

instead of an oh-so-realistic

pixelation of the truth -

the mirage I always mistake

for honesty until

that very last moment

when I realize my finger,

starved for touch,

cannot extend,

no matter how desperately it reaches,

through shatterproof glass

to touch her wings

on the other side.

To whoever owns the play-stained

plastic pastel kiddie playground

next to Spring Vale Elementary School:

I hope you did not see me stop

outside of your home

at approximately 11:17 PM

and listen to the crickets

for an absurdly long time

and take a picture of your playground

and then get scared by the swooshing sound

of a car approaching,

and I hope very much that you did not see me hide

behind the little oak tree

at the front of your yard

waiting for that car to pass by.

But if by chance you did,

I would like you to know

that when I left my house

I had every intention of taking a normal run

but I must admit

I did very little running

(and much staring at rainsoaked sidewalks,

feeling the last of the storm droplet onto the top of my scalp)

on this excursion

but after my first car hiding episode in your lawn

(that is a lie - your lawn was not my first car hiding episode)

I did run for my life after I became convinced that a car

was chasing me because

in my defense

it began driving very slowly

as it approached me

so naturally when another car passed the opposite way

I was certain

they were in fact the same car

and this driver was circling me

to abduct and murder me,

so you can imagine my panic at the third car

coming my way -

Anyway, all this is to say

I got home safely, heart racing,

and lied by omission to my mother

about my run being good

although really it was good

because of your pastel playground

so I got what I deserved -

punishment for taking photos of that playground

that was just minding its own business.

But also

I must thank you

for making my fake run

a good one

besides the hiding from cars.