I had to stop eating these popsicles we buy.
Blueberry or
blue-raspberry, hereby denying myself
the comfortingly cool and saccharine sweetness.
The drumbeat in my brain; Focus! Focus
On this inane treat, quick!
I could eat two in a row
or three, depending on
how long he is gone.
The chill is a shiver down my spine,
behind me sneakily distracting me.
He isn’t far, but distance isn’t the the point
and neither is the fact that
our souls are joined at the hip, so
don’t feed me that new age-y bullshit.
Loss can infect, like a threatening disease,
appeasing my demons and
planting lethal seeds. Growing virulent plants,
knocking me on my knees.
What’s worse is the shame I feel
for cloaking myself in this needless ordeal.
The judgement I anticipate, it’s debilitating weight,
pulling me lower and fading my glow.
I let it, I know. And so
I had to stop eating these popsicles we buy.
I am not going to be my own fall guy
in this rivalry with my anxiety,
this unintended lie.
