Status Quo

 

If the broken bottles,

the shards,

shattered their way between us,

then I’m sorry.

But you’ve been no angel,

and I’ve known nothing but the status quo.

I know nothing

about the battle

deep, deep down below

between us.

Feelings,

sometimes (always)

don’t want to be felt,

and if I’ve been pretentious

and obnoxious,

then I’d like to think it never shows.

Delusions.

I, like Ms. (née) Lazarus

can show you how I rose above.

I can show you how,

despite all their protestations,

I threw pearls to swine,

and how being dashed to bits

is not my primary concern.

Dashed to bits– torn

is the norm,

which is the problem,

I suppose.

30,

60,

90,

I don’t know how long it will take.

I don’t know that it ever will.

 

The status quo

for a long time now

has been dried-up mornings

and guilt over crimes

I’ve never committed

except in my dreams.

 

And in my dreams,

we are partners in crime

again.

 

And in my dreams,

no time

has passed.

 

Sixteen years is a long, long time

when you’re young and halfway

between then and when

the time comes

for you to repent.

 

The letters I’ve sent

are now strips of paper gone down the drain.

The words I’ve written

are now shrapnel

sitting somewhere in a garbage bag

outside your home.

 

And your home

used to be my own

but now my name is persona non gratis

and now

we can never go to restaurants

or museums

or parks.

And I kept watching

just to see you leave.

Yes, I kept watching

just to see you walk away.

If I could ever sway you

to come back,

I’d smash the status quo,

repair my brain,

and never drink of this water,

and I’d never thirst again.

–Janni Raychuk

Janni’s favorite hobby is writing. If you want to contact her, do so at jraychuk1@gmail.com

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