we knew it would be like this
this quarter like the end of every quarter, i just hang in bed with piles of laundry and twisted sheets surrounding me like strangers. i have work to do, grad school applications and unfinished books, but instead i stare at the same pages, and sometimes stare at nothing, and pull at my skin until it's all red and raw. my muscles ache from yesterday's nightmare - the kind you know was so vivid, but you can't explain it to anyone. just the memory of not being able to get to where you need to be, not being able to carry all of the things you needed to get there.
in five days i'll be in my new house. seven and i'll be able to go home for a while.
i just can't get my arms and legs to move. but it always happens this way: the quarter ends and my whole body hits back so hard, thanks for nothing, it says, now it's your turn.
i'm afraid i might stay wrapped up in my towel until i go to work. not afraid so much as sure.
in five days i'll be in my new house. seven and i'll be able to go home for a while.
i just can't get my arms and legs to move. but it always happens this way: the quarter ends and my whole body hits back so hard, thanks for nothing, it says, now it's your turn.
i'm afraid i might stay wrapped up in my towel until i go to work. not afraid so much as sure.