Plug

There was a time when I was so stopped.
I was wedged in a purgatory of disconnect.
I sat on my best friend's bed.
In her room. In her house.
(It smelled soft pink, like roses, and unfamiliar with ruin)
We were seventeen.

I remember their faces.
My friend held her pillow and cried and confessed
and I was so startled with anger.
Her mother always looked so young and kind,
but she was creased in the face with a sharp, fire-like stare.
Like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
She was furious.
visibly, truly,
rightfully
furious.


She turns to me, throat cracked open, with a message,  that erupts from a deeper place within her.

She is angry.

her voice turns into shapes,
I watch the words like pictures, blurred and distant.


For me.

they move away like a slingshot, drawn back in slow motion, aimed at me, then

let go.


I am unstopped.