Words

I figured I would be nothing / nobody / wandering deserts /and foggy alleys / aimless / and dreaming But you won't let me

I forget what I look like. I wake up most mornings searching for self in the strength of the sun, the direction of the wind, the pitch of bird songs. I look for self in the amount of red settled, remaining, in last nights bedtime glass. I look for self in the man next to me, still sleep, hair curling and coiling, kissing black lashes. I look for self in a mug of mud, with a spoonful of agave, and burnt toast. I find self in a mirror, every morning: a self fussy and dissatisfied and craving all the selves she meets in dreams and drunken stupors and caffeinated trances.

solitude on Tuesdays / devouring French toast / being fussy over vegetarian sausage hat pulled low / stories of nuns and boxers and drunks and junkies / avoiding eye contact Fresh sunflowers / creating lists to remember the moments