even when

will you follow me even when 

I no longer feel the 

comfort of asphalt beneath my 

light up tennis shoes as I race 

around the playground

illuminating my 

elementary school days with 

spelling bee ribbons and chapter books

from grandma’s classroom 

will you follow me even when

I no longer run grandma’s 

weathered hand along the branches 

of the pine tree fort 

I pretended was my home 

so she could memorize the special 

password that promised to lead us to 

another world, a better world 

will you follow me even when 

I wander beyond the realm of belief

where the home I find cannot 

be painted in such a way as

to cover the scars or

be mended in such a way as

to keep out the rain 

will you follow me even when 

I no longer know 

the direction in which 

I fall, a part of me 

knows you want to, but you won’t—even when 

I fall apart