stepmother didn’t like us

and father thought it fair

so they left us in the forest

back to our mother‘s care

she led us to a cottage

built of sugar and of stone

the town called her a witch

but she was really just alone

and so we settled in to the house of spice and bread

Hansel, Gretel, Mother together once again

but as we started growing

independence chafed our skin

we knew that mother loved us

but the forest caged us in

and so we started fighting, kicking at the walls

Hansel, Gretel, Mother doomed to take the fall

and so out we went

back to town we returned

but they called it an escape

and the witch, they said would burn

and all of our pleading fell on deaf ears

blind eyes to the safety that we had for years

disbelief that it was father who left us behind

dooming instead, our mother to die

And that’s how it ended, in tears and cruel laughter

Hansel, Gretel, Mother - never happily ever after

there used to be days when I would leave milk and cookies on a plate next to the fireplace on Christmas Eve

when I would peer out the window in my pajamas and bare feet searching for a glimpse of reindeer and sleigh bells

when giggles and conversation would turn into languid slow blinks of sleep, another failed attempt to catch Santa in his act

now I exchange sly winks with my parents as they ask us for Christmas lists

I split a cookie in half on Christmas Eve for my parents to share in silent tradition

and ignore the footsteps I can hear outside my bedroom, Santa no longer waiting for sleep to take us, just for our doors to close

the secret is unspoken, unmentioned

it hides in knowing glances and subtle questions, in tradition and memories

I still wait for Santa

but Santa no longer has to wait for me

Alongside the passing dishes, the casserole, the pie

My plate holds missing memories, of stress, of grief, of sighs

Perfect porcelain china that we see just once a year

Pretty decorations that hide both pride and tears

My plate holds conversations of loosened family ties, of people that we once held dear, and now have to leave behind

I balance my politeness like the food groups on my plate

Carbs heavy like the questions as they ask about my latest failing date

But on top of everything I add a little grace

because even despite it all, my plate is giving thanks

Hope is a pretty ruler

sitting on Pandora's throne

she's got your heart in lock grip

Like Medusa, turned to stone

you're kneeling at the table

you're begging for the scraps

you've moved away from storybooks

ripped up and off the page

Hope gave herself an upgrade

that trapped you inside a cage

Four minutes in and I knew I had made a colossal mistake. The “I love you” slipped from your tongue, the words a cold, dead anchor on my heart. You were falling too far, too fast- pulling me into your current at breakneck speeds. Love is supposed to be buoyant and beautiful. But in yours, I am drowning, and I don’t think I can call that love.

we were long text conversations and contemplative words

you spilled compliments like glasses of wine

in between memories and sappy pick-up lines

but apologies drip from your lips like honey

slow and sweet

over and over again

defensive words from a bitter tongue

hiding behind that sugar-sweet smile

my back straightens as I read the caller ID on the ringing phone

my shoulders rise up in time with my breath

one heavy sigh, one slow blink of closed eyes

everything is fine

No stress, no nerves, no worries

No anger, no tears, no pain

everything is fine

hidden in the calm, consistent murmur of my voice on the phone

emotions straining it to a slightly higher pitch, a slightly smoother tone

desperate to break through, break down, break me

hiding from the voices on the other side of the line

hiding from the thoughts yelling at me from the inside

but I allow one heavy sigh, one slow blink of closed eyes

everything is fine

my knowledge of soccer is of dribbling and David Beckham

but I google the score at halftime so I can share in the reasons why you care

Listen to you rant about the penalty in the third quarter

and all the words translate in my head to tell me that you’re talking about sports, about something I don‘t understand

But you listen to my questions

about teams and plays and rules

over and over again

every time we watch a game

and that’s worth more than winning to me

you surround me with big words

not long, but existential

slipping out love without worry

future sitting on the tip of your tongue

forever resting on your lips

and I exist in the in-between

in pauses and short words

in waiting, in like, in maybe

in slowing down

because I'm terrified that I'm going to break another heart

of another boy who falls too far, too fast

of a boy giving out words that I'm not ready for

that I don't know when I'm going to be ready for