time (nonlinear) by Rachel Miller (Oregon)

​i'm drinking orange juice          with a hint of white wine*          while skipping class
because i hate everything.          i'm crying while reading fairytales
about communism          and i'm running
even though it's excruciating.
then (i'm not sure when, but 2020)
it was the first time i was home alone          since the pandemic started
and the first time i drank beer          of my own accord.          i blasted my music and sat on the floor
in the dark.          so what's new?

---

then (i'm four i think)
all i can smell is his cologne          and dirty laundry          and all i can see is the pile
of stuffed animals          and none of this future.          he's playing his music and i know the words.
it's the first time i feel real.
now (somewhere around 2022, but that's beyond me)
i don't know what's real          and what's a lie. music can't save me          anymore and i'm
resorting to people          who i don't know          and things i don't need.          reality is faltering          but i
guess i decided this morning          that i'm okay with that.
then (the depths of despair)
was i okay with it?          we'll never know          but i surely didn't accept it yet.
that was a time where i lost track          of myself and all that could keep me grounded          was the
devil.          they say i'm religious, but i'm not sure about that anymore;          either because of the
illegality or the fact that false pretenses are my purview,          no longer god.
i don't believe in god          or magic.
          but i believe in fate.
and us.
he must be real, right?          but i can let it slide if we're the only things
(creatures) that are.
now (the future)
i think i'm real.
but i also think nothing is.
so i keep drinking          my orange juice*
and singing          my stories
until i can find the true art
of being real.

​

*or maybe it's white wine with a hint of orange juice