Maze

His words twisted the corners

so right curved into left,

and truth bent sideways,

making me believe

I was going the wrong way.

Hedgerows grew tall,

and thick with argument,

until they swallowed the gas lampposts,

turning pathways into shadows.

I walked blind and barefoot

through the thick of it,

earth damp, worn thin as my breath.

Was I supposed to find the center?

Was there ever an exit?

There was no map,

just whispers in the leaves,

and his voice,

ringing in my ears,

a compass spinning

from asking too many questions,

and doubt,

folded into my own pocket.

My soul became blistered

from chasing after ghosts of

wanted apologies,

so I kissed the ivy,

hoping the walls would soften.

but they spiraled,

a boa constrictor handcuffing my legs.

I took a sharp turn,

desperate,

crawling on my belly,

a soldier avoiding fire,

fingertips clawing into the red clay,

and found the center,

where a red lip-sticked mirror stood,

half cracked, words still whole:

"you're not the one who's lost"