A Reading + Prompt: Earthquake

EARTHQUAKE

My entire life has been 
a huge earthquake I slept through.
All I know are the aftershocks.

The sound of glass being swept up
in my lover’s bedroom.  

A story I don’t remember telling
is the headline of every newspaper 
the morning after. My blackouts in big lights.

All I see is the damage I’ve done.  

My mother is the news anchor
never allowing me to escape her natural disaster.

My father is the kindly neighbor 
bringing me a candle and asking about my injuries.		

I read a diary full of old New Year’s resolutions:

1. Ignore the commentary on your comical thighs.

2. Write more than just repeating his favorite song's lyrics.

3. Report every shooting star to Mindy while out of town.

4. Tell him you love him before he figures out that you don’t.

My friends lie to me like a government.
They say the wreckage isn’t as bad as it seems.

My old flames head up relief efforts,
raising money to help the hurt survive me.    

My thoughts are homeless dogs running wild.
I just want to know the truth.

I’d like to take the Richter scale 
out for a romantic lie detector test
and when the mood’s right, 
ask what it really thinks of me.

When it doesn’t respond,
I'll tell everyone to sleep in their cars
or move to Florida,
where at least the hurricanes
announce themselves
before destroying everything.