We Manage Us

You make me queasy.
You make me long
to sleep the day away
and never leave
this quilted,
padded hole,
where no one
can find me.

You make me hurt.
You make me dream
of jamming screw drivers
to my broken brain
to dig out the part
that malfunctions,
no matter how necessary,
so I can at least
find peace.


in the case I need to flee
you remind me
of all my happy things.
Little things,
like mango bits
and baby feet,
a good book
on a soft day.
where my boys will play,
lifting kites
more steady than ever
the desert wind did.
Of cartoons,
a fluffy cat
on my lap.
Spring sunshine,
and moments
when my toddler
isn’t furious
with me.

I hate you.
I manage you.
You and me,
we make it by.
Still alive,
still alive.


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