A Wish, Crumpled Up and Thrown Into the Bin

Oh, hello, poetry. I haven’t seen you in a while, have I? I’m getting a bit rusty.
I was almost tempted to write ‘I am not even Leo Valdez,’ but then I decided against it. Not everyone likes some Percy Jackson with their poetry. (God, that was some bad alliteration.)
This isn’t the best poem that I’ve written in recent times, but it helped me to get some feelings out. Better for me than for you, I think.

A Wish, Crumpled Up and Thrown Into the Bin

I am the third wheel when there is
not even
a couple.
I am the one who walks two steps ahead of the twins on a tricycle.
I am the shoes that try desperately to fall into step,
pace
after
pace
after
pace.

I am the one who prefers to talk to imaginary people,
because
fictional characters
don’t judge,
or
at least
don’t
care.

I am the one who tiptoes around the dragon and tries not to wake it.
And I am not ever allowed to be that dragon,
not once,
not even for a moment.

I am the one who finds salvation in secrets
and wonder in words.

I am the one who lies to herself
until
her nose builds a ladder to the moon and
her tongue is twisted into a thousand knots.

I wish were not that person.
I wish I were someone else.
Sometimes, I wish I were no one at all.

Spider

She lies half-lost in the midnight.
Her thoughts leap
out
and
fill the room –
they weave with each other until
she can
barely
see
through the silver web.

And then they start to get
tighter
and
tighter
and
tighter
and then
CRACK

The first crack;
the only quiet in the cacophony.

Nothing happens. She starts to distrust her senses.
CRACK
no
CRACK
no, yes, it’s –
CRACK
CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK

The tape that holds her together has lost its strength.
It splits.
She screams once, silently, without opening her mouth.

Watermelon Smile

You smile a big, wide, watermelon smile;
a smile of blushing pink-red and mint leaves and grass and
little
pieces
of
the darkest evening.
As teeth bite into your smile, a sweet rose-tinted water dribbles
out
and onto your clothes and your chin and your cheeks and
the floor.
The blushing compresses like a foam cup,
satisfaction in each bite.
Soon, your watermelon smile is gone, and you are left with a
thin
green
almost-grimace that
tastes like envy.