Jokers

I turned myself off
to be on
for everyone else.

funny thing, life.

how (she asks whom, exactly)
does it all work?

Am I supposed to forget my passion,
my desires? my femininity?
do I let go of the idea of love?
or has it already left me long ago?
I’ve given myself away so much
I have nothing left to recognize.
Nothing left of me
for me.

the scariest things require
the biggest leaps
of faith
long lost
in battered storms…

I no longer believe.

I recoil to touch.

Smiles?
Smiles feel like knives,
dipped in acid, drawn up
at the corner by strings.
I see jokers everywhere.
I see punch lines
a fucking mile away, now.
Spare me the false hope.

May as well get to the part
where it ends. It always does.
Except I keep on going.
I always do.
Maybe I should
(pretend to)
smile, too.

 

 

~ Emily C.

8.234.17

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