A ball trickles
Wrapped in hard foil
And it lies in the pit of my stomach
I want to set it on fire; I want to punch it to its downfall
Did you fall?
You said you fell for me; your diary trickles with dull black ink
My name traced its pages like a whisper in the loving summer wind
Maybe just one page, one you placed into your pocket before tearing to shreds
But I kept falling, just like Alice, until I “thunked” onto the tile floor
Sank deep against the walls until forming into the installation
At least I kept the walls warm, but you said I couldn’t keep you company for long
I grew brighter, and I pulled myself from the house’s walls
This house of “not good enough’s” was not good enough for me
I crawled upon the ginger root while evacuating the house
I surpassed the pedestal you stood on with your balancing yoga pose
My foot slipped upon an inkwell, which trickled onto your dark face, making it darker
Exposing the inescapable reflection of your surface personality
No longer sparkling in the shimmer of applause you love to bask under
I escaped from the dirty tunnel filled with feelings of others you tossed here and there
The ones you left hanging out to dry with no explanation; just placing a clock in their heart
A ticking clock which beats until their next cry
That tunnel of “what ifs” and “not good enough’s” rang once an hour
Every time they thought of you the whole place shook, and that feeling in my stomach would come back
Their needy hands stretched from here to there, searching to play with your hair
Searching for your face
I slouched there, swaying to and fro with two fingers in my ears
Going back in my mind to the place where you did not exist
A time when my lips did not know yours
Time is who I was waiting for; he showed every so often to pour a bucket into the abyss I dreamed to fill
Time told me I was good enough and he helped me grow
I grew taller on the inside: so tall that I made it passed the weeping willows whose crying leaves tampered with my mind, surfacing the memories of you
Upon my departure, I tightened the screws to the tunnel’s manhole and left that crumpled foil behind
No longer do you sparkle
No longer do they cry
No longer exists a wounded hole
Only certain areas for steam to escape, crawling towards the sky
