I didn’t use to cry on Halloween.

 

After all, it’s my favorite time of year.

This year I’ll spend it alone for the first time.

I don’t know how to do that.

 

So I did my makeup today. eyeliner too.

But I don’t have a costume.

Just some lousy cat ears – I guess they’ll have to do.

 

Still, it’s my favorite time of year.

I got some decorations from my room!

Painted pumpkins; no time to carve.

 

A small skeleton - yet to be named -

hangs from the mirror side.

(do you think he’ll watch scary movies with me?)

 

I don’t have any candy. After all,

there are no trick-or-treaters here.

But maybe a stale lollipop will do the trick

 

(ha, get it? trick)

 

It doesn’t. Now I have a stomach ache.

I can hear people laughing outside.

Oh, a party! They must be going to a party.

 

I really do hope it’s fun.

See, I’ve also never been to a Halloween party.

But they sure do look good in the movies.

 

And I don’t really know where I’m going with this.

Is this even poetry?

Or words broken into weirdly paced sentences.

 

It doesn’t much matter.

 

Because I didn’t use to cry on Halloween.

And I didn’t use to stare in the mirror

trying to pull off the mask of my own being

 

And I didn’t use to hide my swollen eyes under

the guise of being too tired to talk.

Nor dust cobwebs from my throat.

 

I never used to find myself jealous

of pumpkins forced to smile for eternity.

But Halloween is a scary time.

 

And I guess it’s finally caught up.