Retrospect

Retrospect (Sometimes Hurts More Than the Present)

I can’t help but tell you she’s lucky.

not like the dice.

My air is Unsteady,

Heavy, and Sweet-

Like the overpriced syrup you gave me.

You slithered in under my tongue and

                        secretly coated my hard dose of reality.

Now I'm tripping in the clutches of mutilated double-dutch ropes;

hopscotch chalk covers my hands,

and

I’m a little girl again.