What if all the good things happen instead

I want more than I can name

Always yearning, suppressing, plucking open and stitching back up 

Always anticipating the blow and half-mourning deaths that haven’t happened 

Holding the space of a loss that hasn’t opened up yet 

What if I’m a fucking liar 

This steady foundation may be a sandcastle instead 

I hate the beach and I love the ocean, I wish I could walk straight into her depths and sink down to the gritty floor, burrow beneath century old sand 

Am I ugly? AM I small and brittle and bird-boned and too fast and too bad at eye-contact — 

Can I hold my own stare? 

I have more questions that I can name 

What if everything bad happens, and they don’t love me anymore, and my hands freeze to stone and my head never stops hurting, and all the things I’ve never done swallow me whole

I hate the beach, I hate change, I yearn for a gasp of salty relief when I finally fucking scream and fall knees-first to the sand 

I miss summertime. 

I want a brain that doesn’t assume the worst. A new, shiny, uncracked porcelain bowl that will hold only good intentions and sweet memories and the things that I love, all tender and bright like sun warmed strawberries 

I want a body that doesn’t fold inward, collapsing in on itself, crunching up like a lawn chair in fear, 

I want blush and butterflies and warm feelings, I want to pull the doom out of my chest 

I want to wonder What if all the good things happen instead?