a poem about eggs and abandonment

when they liked me

they liked the way I cook my eggs

"I think we all like our eggs in good ways," she said

we sat around the counter in the kitchen

all four burners on the stove hot

all four of us equidistant apart

"we could trade and be fine"

photos in the mirror

floor length, resting against the wall

arms around each other, liking who we saw

these are my friends

this family is mine

then the world split

sparing my feelings by leaving me in an empty room

little, my space

lucky, my success

lacking, my eggs

"it's too much"

I'm a ghost

who creaks the floorboards upstairs

who moves chairs in the dining room

who lays down in the driveway when the doors are locked

and the people with the key are nowhere to be found

no mirror arms to touch

now I cook my eggs with resentment

I keep the pan hot

and my anger hotter

because loneliness breeds hurt breeds anger breeds contentment

right?

not right

and my tongue burns with the hate in my gut and the fire on my plate

what made my eggs note enough?

or too much like the rest of me

too loud

can't drive

doesn't like what we lie

doesn't want what we want

we're doing her a favor leaving her alone

and she always

always

always

always

always leaves the stove on

I didn't leave the stove on

but something in me is burning

there's an emptiness inside me where my anger took up space

an apathy I can't erase

a memory I can't replace

and even still I get the sense that

they think they did right by me

when they liked me

they liked the way I cook my eggs

5/?/23