teetering

a broken one moves differently
hides in corners
seeking out the dark
takes photos of each day in negative
counts drinks and phone calls

we could keep these sad stories to ourselves
let our mouths dry
with old addictions

but my spirit dusts itself off like a scraped knee
for this smiling clock creaking
and starting to tick

a broken one is all too aware
of it’s beating
loud bravado smothering fear
so we can emerge glistening from the trenches
giggling at fate’s plans

our hopeful tongues
flicking softly to the last page
to see who rides into the sunset or waves the flag first

this teetering happiness
brave
like it’s already broken