They told me, “smile, be happy.”
But my blood runs cold
when I think of myself:
sewage clouding a once-clear river,
the death of a party—
music choking on silence, confetti settling like dust,
a pin wrecking a roomful of balloons,
a duck attempting to fly,
only to drop head first into dirt,
a seed that never breaks the surface,
shriveling in the dark.
I used to whisper, “I’ll improve tomorrow,”
but tomorrow doesn’t deserve another lie.
Yet, I still remember the way you looked at me —
eyes alight and lips turned up in a smile —
dazzling stars embellishing
a shadowed night sky.
