a year of impossibles
sometimes, i am tired of fighting for the things that i care about the most. and my whole everything is weighty in my stomach and everything smells and tastes like childhood sinus infections and hospital soap. heart like a too-full balloon gliding over a pointy city and too close to heat and then, pop.
maybe what i need is five years all over again. or maybe just a fifth year.
how to slow down, how much to prove.
i curled up in bed and felt how purple the sheets were. i thought about having to move three times in the upcoming months. i thought about crying in robyn's office and how much that had more to do with every struggle than just the one. i thought about how i've become so careful that i don't get drunk, when i drink -- for a second, maybe, but then, all of a sudden, careful me, sober again. i thought about the friday class and how i wanted to say, my mother, presente, and didn't. i thought about caramelo and that painting of diego's and how stupid i feel for never learning spanish and how much the sound makes me think of cities i've never been to. and hard in my stomach are recycled words i've swallowed and spat out and they will not go away. and so i think about maybe eating dinner, maybe taking something to help me fall asleep at 8 so i can ignore the crashboombanging of neighbors and air, and wake up in the light of a different day.
maybe what i need is five years all over again. or maybe just a fifth year.
how to slow down, how much to prove.
i curled up in bed and felt how purple the sheets were. i thought about having to move three times in the upcoming months. i thought about crying in robyn's office and how much that had more to do with every struggle than just the one. i thought about how i've become so careful that i don't get drunk, when i drink -- for a second, maybe, but then, all of a sudden, careful me, sober again. i thought about the friday class and how i wanted to say, my mother, presente, and didn't. i thought about caramelo and that painting of diego's and how stupid i feel for never learning spanish and how much the sound makes me think of cities i've never been to. and hard in my stomach are recycled words i've swallowed and spat out and they will not go away. and so i think about maybe eating dinner, maybe taking something to help me fall asleep at 8 so i can ignore the crashboombanging of neighbors and air, and wake up in the light of a different day.