The sandwich is wrong.

Wrong.

Dark, shady, cold,

Fingers grasping at your soul

WRONGNESS.

What is right, she asks?

What is this childish concept called right?

A land of make believe and flowers
Daisies stretching their faces to the sky
Endless episodes of Paw Patrol
Arms that never put you down
Hoses that leak just the right amount of water

Elusive fantasy. Lies.
Whispered broken promises sold to one-year-olds.

I am two.

I am two, and world-weary

My soul is tired
I’m too old to believe in fairy tales.

There is no “right way”
No matter how she begs and pleads.

Mother needs to grow up.
Mother needs to understand.

There is no right. There is only wrong.

That peanut butter sandwich was cut WRONG.

All is darkness. All fading. All is lost.

That’s definitely not dog hair on the plate after I rescued it from the floor.