Meant to be

​is akin to sucking the venom
out of a rattlesnake bite
and spitting it into the desert.

Much more
useful in fiction.

Fate encompasses why the world spins
why no word rhymes with orange and
why it just didn't work out.

Steady, unwavering belief that all the
strings are eventually tied,
all lost dogs found,
every mitten left out in the snow
finds a mate
has never been a
flaw of mine.

I am much more willing 
to believe in a deity
that set up our own system
and walked away. 

Our wonderland is the 
parallel reality of all that 
could have been. 

The missed buses,
the upswept umbrellas,
the kiss with the wrong one
and a 
dance with the right one. 

Instead, let's love the idea
that time does not exist.

And everything I could--
I should-- have been
is already happening
will always happen
and
has
never
happened.

Meant to be in more
realities than mine.

(the stack of turtles sinks lower

into the pools of the worlds)

Uncertainty is embraced
when I look
at equations I cannot-
willnot-
understand.

Chaos is loved much more
when a fall that should have
been nothing
spins a life around like a
penny caught on the edge
and then slapped face down--

In another world,
I never lose socks,
never wear mittens,
and hate oranges.

In another world,
I said yes--

In another world,
you asked--