We create roundabouts for ourselves:
A game of snakes and ladders, you climb
Rung by slippery, spiky rung, and slide
All the way down, laughing, hiding your
Face because who wants to see the
Failure you feel? I smashed teeth on that
See-saw, I thought it was a joke until
It wasn’t anymore. A playground you say?
It was a play. A ground for an act or five,
But I bled out of the grass boundaries,
Soaking the tepid mud, footprints marking
My betrayal, my need to cross lines, smash bridges.
The roundabout won’t go anywhere, double
Vision is an illusion, the slide is only a
Second of fun for three minutes of labor.
I slip on the climbing frame, the ground
So much further than reality, a tumble.
My playground a prison, an obstacle course
Of boring trepidation, unhealthy dances on the beam;
Balance, one step in front of the other.
The deep forest a dark suitor, attractive
Hands curled around my wrist, pulling
Me away. We create roundabouts
For ourselves; we conform, copy, pledge, and
Then we bleed out, run, slip away,
And you wonder why we never thought
To unclip these wings before they were
Ever clipped in the first place.
Copyright @Jade Anna Hughes