Pretention

It’s easier to pretend that this is what i wanted.
My life is good. And I did dream
Of this.
I dreamt, too, of more.

But when people ask, I say “I’m very blessed”, because I am
I say, “oh, we can’t control that”, because we can’t.
I say, “maybe!” and pass the question back,
Softly.
Because they are small talking
And maybe they want to talk deep.
It’s so easy to listen.

I have a good life. I just meant for something else.
I bargained on a world that halfway happened;
I didn’t count on loss.
I didn’t mean for this haphazard whimsy;
A bike with mismatch wheels and a straw basket
Plastic sunflowers and polka-dots with squeaking brakes and slipping gears.

And I’m grateful.
Because I didn’t know how much bikes cost
Or how much I would learn
Or who I would be
(Youthful dreamers neglect minutiae).
Or how excellent the ride is,
Liberated.

And so my life is good. Luck fell on my doorstep
And found me neither deserving, nor exceptional, nor extraordinary.
Just a whisper in time, a whooshing blur
A quiet thought with blue shoes and a white dress
And together we worked this out.

Sometimes they ask me questions.
What’s the plan? What’s next?
Do you think you will?
And it’s easier
(It’s always easier)
To tuck back my rainbow of surprises
dancing like streamers in the wind,
And just pretend.
It’s precisely as I wanted;
I’ve meant it all, all along.