2:30am, a glass of water straight from the tap,
somewhere between violets and lilies –
(I stopped buying flowers because they were too expensive.)
Kicking off the blanket because it’s too hot, pulling it back up because it’s too cold.
I loved your dimples and thought they were kind, and so did everyone else.
I inherit this disposition; my childhood home is falling apart,
and it’s almost funny because it seems like a metaphor but it’s quite literal.
The roof is caving in, the floor is sinking,
and I think the cobwebs have ruined my VHS tapes.
I smashed the clock I remember from my youth.
I wasn’t trying to stop time but I was trying to stop something else from moving.
Everyone says don’t take it personally but how is it ever not personal
Sometimes I read Virginia Woolf’s suicide letter to her husband –
it’s unbearably sad but it’s also a love letter.
Scars are figurative and very real –
I have the stretch marks from my old body
and the place where I stuck a razor when I was 26.
It’s embarrassing how old habits don’t die,
you’d think that eventually it should all wash away,
like runoff in the gutter.