terrible

tearable,

anything-can-fall-apart-able,

love is too much of a choice,

and everything happens for somebody's reasons,

some body of reasons-

if i cry enough, i will become Process,

incessantly pro-cessant,

if i lean into the adhd, i will be over,

over you, over time, over dead.

i have been loved kindly enough

to know magic is a secret, not a miracle,

& i know my secrets, i don't have,

so i miss when i could lie,

& living is too much of a choice,

it’s always falling for someone,

never falling because of-

everything is always a poem away,

& change is a storm,

& i’m something we can cling to.