how can you love me at all?

morning, i eat
raspberries mushed
down tooth to tongue.
sour apples follow
behind muffin chipped
chocolate. i swig water,
washing mouth clean.
a girl sings soft narrative
about king she ran from.
or maybe how she is small
compared to God. how i know
running small. phone rings &
news moves home inside
open ear: water broke through,
new life is soon to come. i
utter, wow. we speak
about jumping for joy,
but underneath i quiver.
after awhile, we hang
up & by keyboard
whisper what
blessing this
is. afterward,
silence greets
my mind registering
another no no no.
maybe answer was
not now, but find
myself asking: can we
just lower all of my
expectations—gasping
for air & silently pleading:
you can’t love me anymore.
i told you i was fine, rest is
fine, bur here i am, weeping
you can’t love me alone, restless.
there needs to be someone here
wrapping me in arms because
hidden heaviness i don’t know
how to let go. i weep inability
to take joy & sorrow, hearing
the ticking clock fill empty
room—

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