Dress Up

I crave cupcake baking and seeing your contact glazed blue pupils tearing

            “proud” through your sheets.

Pull up the covers on one,

Caress your body in your cocoon, close of your barriers, escape from why

            Silence penetrates from wall to window.

            Bonds are breaking, why should trust come from lust,

                                                where does love go when all is dust?

I am a child. Meandering from right to wrong, from lie to truth.

I am simply a wanderer.

So much in a hug, in your baby-sized hands beginning to wrinkle and crack.

Pull up the covers on two,

On us, talk of why, how and when.

When. When will you laugh again, when will your disappointment dissipate.

            When hugs, when hands are.

I speak no more- for silence says more than words.

The words I crave to say get tangled between lips and tongue guilty of professing love

            through incessant deeds.

How. How do I say those words? The two words stuck in limbo between our covers.

            How do I save what is already broken. How do I tell the truth in a mess of lies.

Cupcakes rise in the oven, but I am the lining not quite full enough.

I squeeze into each inch of fabric, pulling my abundant thighs into your scraggly tight pantsuit and ripping off the 80’s shoulder pads on your favorite dress.

Today I play dress up. Even at 17, every daughter wants to be like her mom.

Why. Why are we naïve to think we are different, we can live without each other. Why don’t you Believe in me anymore.

Pull down your sheets, your covers and let me in another time.

Take a bite; sometimes the smallest cupcakes have the most icing.

See what I really am.

Listen.

“I’m Sorry.”