after Barbie
only after a stiff drink
when the taste of butter
swallows stale
under dark
only after midnight
when the walk home, muted
and each star becomes a wish
for a different life
only under fluorescence
when the din of Netflix
dips to a clock tick—a countdown,
a pulse of descent
only after Call Me Chihiro
wondering why saving herself
is the same as forfeiting
everyone she loves
only after I’ve saved myself
for the 116th time
looking for the rainbow,
exhausted
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