Some of us,
apparently, need
to break.
I lug a wagon
full of lead
across the sand.
Attach anchors
to my wings
and then jump
from the fourth story.
I built a whole
city of lies
and then lived
in it. Paved
its streets
with reasons why.
I line the hems
of my every dress
with uprooted
stumps and pour
oil across the floor—
it glistens slickly between
the front door
and wherever else
we want to go—
all in an effort
to hide from
these six words,
we are ready
for real love.