as the branch
was snapping
my arms were flapping
as wings
but I couldn’t fly
I fell on his lies

I held on
to use to Be’s
left me pining
up at night whining for the past
letting go of my hand
as a balloon tied to a string
and I saw it grow smaller
as it caught a breeze –
floating higher than the trees
till it wasn’t seen

I held on
to a dream
of could Be’s
of knights in white satin
riding on steeds
a prisoner in an ivory tower
till I uncovered the stain
that was painted over
in rosy gloss
but I plucked the tartar
like dental floss