she is sitting in bed
pretending to be someone different
pretending to be a poet
pretending her eyes were hazel like the boys all the girls used to have crushes on in grammar school
and yes she is still from chicago in her dreams
because it's just right to say
"pop"
maybe there really is something to being different

she is sitting in bed on the same sheets where others had come
before

she is listening to your cd
the one you gave her
the one you exhaled love into
the one you breathed life into before you slashed you down
timbered you into the lake where you drowned your former self and became the monster beneath her weaker self's bed

boogie don't feel the same when it's a yellow monster in a children's book

you know,
just because you think poetry is beautiful doesn't make you
just because you think poetry is beautiful doesn't change yo' ugly
an' if you don' fix it soon, son
it may follow you til death
not to be confused with def

she is listening to the sounds of where she was when she said yes before she said
let's wait a while
before honesty was the actual answer

sometimes we fall before we pay attention
and that's ok
there's a mirror in every corner here

she is still alove
and awake
she is not hopeless
not a penny
not a coin at all
she is a living breathing sheep
waiting to to be led somewhere
she doesn't know where yet
but when her leader comes

she will know

right now, she is praying
for direction
and for the wisdom to know when to follow