uh oh!

i don’t think i like mirrors.

well that’s a lie,

i spend an awful lot of time looking at myself in one.

but does anyone else find it odd

that sometimes they look and wonder :

“who’s inside there?”

that certainly isn’t me!

i looked different a few days ago...

yesterday ... this morning ...

i think my least favorite part of mirrors

is when you get real close and personal with yourself.

you stare into your eyes and

jump back

suddenly

spooked for whatever reason.

earlier today i saw my own shadow

at the bottom of the pool.

i saw my shadow just now as well

she was drinking water like me,

staring at me through the painted walls.

why does it scare me? it is myself?

i just heard some rain outside.

i think i like rain:

sometimes i don’t.

do i only like it because everyone else does?

i think this is the thing that scares me :

am i my own individual?

do i like this or do other people like this

and i like other people?

the shadows

the mirrors

are reflections of myself.

by all laws of nature and science

they are true.

they only reflect

and they are the purest version.

am i scared because they hold the real

thoughts and emotions i’m too scared to have?

is my current body only the thoughts and emotions

i think others want me to have?

1. winning an olympic gold medal

2. licking your own elbow

3. rocket science

4. only eating one oreo

5. algebra 2

you say that loving me is not difficult.

escapril day fourteen

pink might be my favorite color.

oh so many variables pour into the most

imperative decision of which color will be mine

for the year, or just a few months.

how i feel, which clothes i like best,

and as much as i hate to admit it:

which one is most on trend right now.

but as much as my favorite color is everchanging

with the seasons of my life,

so is my pilot.

she is, right now, starving

not only from the constant input of

numbing substitutes for happiness

but from the lack of energy because

the other organs detest her

they are playing a cruel prank by refusing

to accept any food.

a few months ago she was thriving.

full of food, full of love.

i miss the days when eating didn’t feel like a chore

and i could sit you in my lap and laugh for no cause.

bodies don’t stay the same for long at all.

favorite colors don’t either.

escapril day twelve

there used to be a drought on this land

a cracked desert who so desperately needed liquid

to spill into every pore and provide healing.

and patiently, she waited, until the earth

twisted upside down and suddenly the water

that had been drained from her system

was bubbling to the top again

bursting at every turn with warm salty bitterness.

she was at first satisfied at the victory

but the flooding got old quickly.

escapril day eleven

i’ve heard most people describe it as heaven.

they never wanted it to end.

a few have said it was a little like hell-

‘and then i realized i didn’t like boys’.

and so i thought once i tried it with you

i would know for sure: heaven or hell.

is this what i want? did i make the right choice?

but all i see is blurry stripped lines

no clear distinction between two opposites

i don’t want you to be an experiment.

god, you mean so much to me

i never want to hurt you.

and i’m so sorry but i’m kind of caught in

the middle ground right now:

soo...

is he your boyfriend?

.. “yeah i guess” you faked a laugh

sheepish at spilling the secret

you tried to keep from me.

i know why : you wanted me AND him

one has never been enough for you.

and when the two of us just weren’t enough

you would add another string to your puppet show

delighting in the new and interesting

that comes with new toys

until they get old and they’re just toys.

you have caused me so much pain my love

i feel claws ripping into my arms

and violently rushing through my veins.

you’ve taken over every aspect of my life

over every thought in my head

over every heart beat in my chest.

you’re not toxic baby:

escapril day nine

a few times natural light was mentioned

.

age 7

momma smothered me in sunscreen, still anxious about burns after five years.

“make sure you cover up your shoulder before you go out in natural light.”

“yes, mom”

.

age 10

daddy knocked on my door, way too early for a saturday.

“get up!” he said, bike helmets in hand, “it’s time for you kids to get off your electronics and experience the natural light and the nice day we have today”

and we grumbled but we went and we laughed and dad rolled down a hill (a small one).

.

age 14

“wait no, face this way,”

“that’s too much light in my eyes”

“mommmm look at the camera i’m trying to get a picture”

.

age 17

“oh my goddddd close the curtains”

groans came from the illuminated bed of my best friend, tired from staying awake and dancing to pop songs on top of dirty laundry.

junior summer was the first year i felt alive:

the first year i understood why they wrote

so many songs about being in high school.

in small towns there’s nothing really to do

except get in her car and ‘explore’.

she taught me all new meanings of the word

when we found a way to make parking lots

our favorite place in the world.

we met new people and got in strangers trucks

(i know, i’m sorry mom)

and might have had an encounter with a sheriff

but i loved every second of it.

we drove from our small piece of heaven to another

getting lost in too many streetlights and odd curves

i blew powdered sugar into her hair

and it was met with an ice cream cone to the face.

we listened to the same song on repeat and

held each other tight at every jump scare.

wasting a whole tank of gas to read street names

might seem like a bad idea to grown ups

but we are us; teenagers in a small country town

with chlorine filled ears and smoke filled lungs

and too much anticipation to leave

escapril day seven

it wasn’t like a light switching on :

wires buzzing and whirring

and instantaneous illumination.

i don’t think i ever even noticed

that the switch was on.

we were wide eyed children

whispering during church service,

giggling between handfuls of sour candy.

i thought you were pretty.

i liked your laugh but more than that

i like that you made me laugh.

you were the class clown but also

the smartest girl there and

i thought i wanted that to be me,

but i wanted you to be mine.

i walked on rocks and daydreamed,

us being the characters of a taylor swift song.

she/her

you/me

i wrote an entire book in my imagination

of what we could have been.

i saw you a few years later at a college fair.

i didn’t think my heart could beat that fast

until you touched a button on my bag

and it exploded like a match to gasoline.

i have a new idea of love now

and a new subject who’s name to

place in taylor swift songs.

but i can’t vow against another

blueberry eyes study

the dents between my

eyebrows above

my eyes

searching intently for any

stray hairs that might pop

up like creatures in a whack

a mole game.

“there. i’ve got

them.” and walk into

the bathroom where the next

mirror is.

my pupils raise to

study the valley between

furry beasts again and

tackle pesky ghosts living

on my skin.

escapril day five

Dad,

i’m sorry for pushing you away

no, no, kicking you away.

for avoiding your arms when they were open because

i could only remember the times they were closed

a resentment stemming from stinging words

blurted out by an intoxicated man.

i inherited from you a “talking to yourself” gene

and i’m playing out a conversation we’ll never have

but i love you. i really do even when i don’t show it.

there’s more to a human than past mistakes.

so here i sit, staring at the horizon listening to you

kind and excited to show me your world

miles above a small town of big mistakes.

the view from up here makes everything so small

and all i know is your voice

escapril day four

love or money?

love, over everything.

the question sparks visuals

picture perfect aesthetics

of love in my future:

my wife and i in pajamas

a baby girl ; goodnight kisses

flying home for the holidays

hugging everyone twice before i leave

of love in my present:

best friends and big families

drunken tears of laughter on the floor

dancing in the car at 2 am or 2 pm

saying first i love you’s over the phone

of love in my past:

memories like home video scenes

giggling on dads shoulders

clinking tea cups with momma

on a plastic box as our banquet table

bedtime stories while i listen to her heartbeat

love or money?

escapril day three

i just can’t stop

bubbles arise in my throat

i exhale bitter soap

i talked too little

they think it’s weird

so i talked too much

they think it’s weird

i tried my hardest to talk medium

but medium talk comes out wrong

her witty remark and everyone laughs

it wasn’t intended mean so i laugh along

and i’m laughing

and i’m laughing

and i’m so unhappy

my eyes feel glossed over

sandy contacts trapping me inside

why is she looking at me like that

(she’s not looking at me)

why did i say that

(they don’t remember the words)

is my presence enjoyable?

is my presence noticed?