party of 3-7

is it active, survival? or is it a passive weathering of
storms? i do my best to convince lolo and lola
a.k.a. mohamed and khadija, a.k.a. frances and
ferdinand a.k.a. the most stable figures in my
everyday, my towering plants, that i'm independent,
and strong. i strut, i cook, i clean, i get angry at the
leaks and smile at the sunshine, keeping my
box in order, lest anyone question my capacity
for box-building and framework-maintenance. but
l and l, m and k, f and f... they know my secrets, they live
inside this box with me, they know what makes me
cry and which songs turn the mop into a microphone,
they know the secrets i spill to flesh and blood and the ones
i only offer to thin air, they see the real smiles and the puppet ones,
they feel my energy and remind me to water them, and to
water myself. so i ask them, the audience to my grand show:
am i surviving? am i thriving?
am i doing this right? if i stop and ask myself all the existential
questions, if i take on the stress inherent to the pursuit of
happiness, if i ask myself "are you welcoming the struggle or
running from the pain?," then have i canceled out the question?
what does it mean to doubt yourself when you are your only judge?
then there is no doubt, there is nothing to doubt, there is nothing.
just me and khadija and frances, and lolo and mohamed,
ferdinand and lola, we make a fine party. i asked those questions of them,
a mad woman pacing a wooden floor, making a mess of my brain as i floss
my teeth before bed, and although they don't answer outright,
i notice they lean in towards each other, only slightly,
and i imagine they're discussing my condition and
i hope they love me regardless.