Deflated.

I’m worried 

about aging,

taxes,

dinner,

dying alone,

and whether I'll get out

before I disappear.

I met you 

while carrying sparkling balloons

and high hopes. 

I was everything you wanted. 

You were everything I lacked. 

You can’t lock balloons in a dark cage. 

There are too many. 

Too colorful. 

Too alive.

You wanted them

all 

to 

yourself. 

You’ve taken more than I had to give 

I still would give you more

Please, take my spleen. 

I don’t even need balloons. 

But I can’t sparkle 
trapped in your cage
afraid of wanting out

afraid of being thrown out.

Pop. 

Pop. 

Pop. 

Did criticism kill the cat
or was that love?
Is it love

if it must be earned 

through compliance?

The sparkles are gone. 

No more balloons. 

Now I’m alone 

in rooms you never knew 

how to enter. 

I still wish you were here.