Disintegrating internally
with so
much hope
Held inside;
The death of
hope actually;
but maybe it is a rebirth.
All the potential
letters and invitations and
pronouncements are
like the cherished water gun.
Or bumper cars and games of
hide and go seek
of childhood;
when others
made their opinion of you
clear, Their envelopes
and you anticipate
all the bad jokes, even insults
and maybe even flowers,
anything
you can react to.
Flowers a girlfriend wows into
the sink for preparation
to slow the disintegration
and you decide to throw
some fancy paper and envelopes
to the wind.
With rose pedals
with leaves and seeds on the
night air,
shreds of paper
that you mastered when you
made your identity
impervious
to childhood.
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