On Getting Used to Denial

I should be living under the floors
spending my days under an array canopy of boards
and creaking bones of the house.
I can see a man on the other side of the
underbelly
of this house
and he smiles
even though there is nothing to be
happy
about,
and the days I count,
he does not count the days
I count the days
that wait until I get out.
He has tried to assure me that
the smell of must is likened to a cologne
and the putrid smell of gasoline
is merely smoke
from our breaths,
and he is trying to teach me
that the people like their lives
above ground
and I wonder,
if he’s right.

Sunlight days
I went out
I saw pastel hummingbirds
speaking in French,
and I was,
undeniably,
insane.

the clouds were now
filling up the daylight
and there was only a
Raven
to caw out into the street
when it was least convenient,
brushing his grease shining feathers against the
brackish sky
yet seeing me
smiling,
I walked,
step by step

each foot carrying it’s own message
to the childhood I was promised
to the life I promised myself
growing up
without the help of strangers
or a guiding smile,
to keep me tied down for a while.