You live your life in post-it notes

pinned to the outside of balloons,

shaved, polished and properly named

for your amusement.

 

Skipping through fallen leaves, all with names

of used to be friends, now just concerns,

you pepper your imagination with pretty bird calls

and nice stories with happy endings.

 

The bad people, the ones unlucky enough

to fuck up somehow are safely tucked away

in the soles of your shoes, right next

to the dried dog shit you leave for posterity.

 

“Come, love me,” you say.

“Come, watch me live,” you say.

“Why are you here?” you say.

So, I came and loved and watched.

 

Now you say nothing. Why would you

when life is a singular word with only two letters:

m, e?