if you were me,
tears and doubt would be so common
you’d learn to silently cry,
to wipe away moisture
while putting puzzle pieces together
with your five-year-old,
to catch that knot in your throat
before it bubbles into a balloon
of anguished sobs

if you were me,
you would be more than
an overly-confident status update
who brags about cycling down the interstate
for a late-night gas emergency,
who flippantly adds an impossible dream
to the brutal reality of all
that you must carry
on your already heavily-laden shoulders

if you were me,
you would see the reality
behind your words,
you would know how utterly small
you stand beneath decisions
that press against your soul
and tear you apart from the inside out

if you were me,
you might want to be
(just for one moment)
the safe-secure-satisfied working mom
who would never do this to her family

but then…
you wouldn’t be me.
i wouldn’t be me.
and what kind of truth
would we both face
if we met, you and i,
and we were not ourselves?