Wild Horses

It feels like everyone's world is falling apart. One minute, it was all fine, the trees and the mountains and the people were all where they were supposed to be and the next, it was all gone, and the people walked upside down, and the trees split in two and the mountains floated away.  And everyone keeps asking me what they should do, as if I'm the scientist, or the lichen wall, that's going to save them. As if I, somehow, know what to do.

My anthem of the summer has been, "I'm sorry."  For all the things I wish so badly I could fix, I'm sorry.  And not for myself, for the millions of other people who only exist in my life who's lives have been uprooted or irrevocably changed.  I want to fix it so badly, I want to be that scientist or that lichen wall or just be whatever can save them.  I am so sorry, so sorry.
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Not

Everything around me isn't real,

and in my back pocket neon fades,

but I'm spinning and my braids catch

the twilight and suck it in.

Triangles envelop my body,

and within a war-torn arena of blonde hairs

are the curls that marched off to trains,

two by two.

Chicken scrawl worse than a chicken's,

an un-used pencil grip and,

the stubbornness of a seven year old

who knew she was just perfect.

Ocean eyes with rings of yellow,

too light-lashes too little

ankles that will never match

tiny toes, tiny nail beds.

Gingham sheets with tatters

in the corners but not the middle,

and chamomile tea, only ever honey

and nothing around me is real.

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I don't know if I'm okay anymore.  I'm just waiting until Emily comes, ticking down the days until my best friend in the world will be here, until I can hug her and hear her laugh and know everything will be ok.  For now, I'm in the limbo and I don't know if everything is ok.  I don't know if everything is ok.
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"Wild horses, couldn't drag me away,
Wild, Wild Horses, we'll ride them someday."