The Fight

I called my imaginary friends

then shut them out: they couldn't help.

I sought 'doctor' in lists of names

Hesitating, then determined.

At first I made an iced coffee:

'This will soothe you and bring some peace'

Then wrote a letter to a friend:

'It's been two months, still I'm winning.'

Ate an apple, put on lipstick

Every rage politely dismissed.

Until roughly emerged in me

the giant monster named misery.

I reached for everyone I could

for I swore to deny my heart:

A counselor who was so near

(we hadn't spoken in a year.)

A teacher whom I used to know

who resigned two years ago.

Another one then, who's pretty close—

anyone, anyone at all.

Two minutes never felt so long

My flesh burning for cruel and wrong.

I tried to reason with myself

She cursed me and said "Go to hell!"

The door was open, my mother passed

She was too tired to notice that.

I argued still when my sister peeked in

I smiled at her: guiltless, no sin.

Books and phones made it no better

The Word abandoned on the floor.

I stopped waiting.

To me, I said—

alas! my voice never so hoarsh—

"Sorry, willow,

We've lost the game."

I sat up and turned on the light,

the monster offered smiles so wide.

I made my art, carved lines and lines

and felt better after a while.

Ended the battle, and I had lost,

I write this to apologize.