not today.

some days I'm afraid to let anyone come near. I'm scared out of my mind that they can smell the bitterness rolling off my skin. I don't want them to see the dullness in my eyes.

I am not myself.

I am the difference between popcorns; burned or buttered. I find myself putting on extra perfume the acrid smolder of my weariness.

I am not myself.


The distance on these days between where I want to be and where I am is long enough to ferment my hopes, and the alcoholic drizzle runs through me. Sedates me. There is too much to be done, and too much I continue to trip over. I'm the prodigal child, the mess maker, picture drawer, sing at the top of my lungs-er. I am the jump off bridge-er, the never stop trying-er. I believe in a beautiful song, and not making promises. I believe in letting the chain on the door hang loose, and letting life's vagrants come in, look in the fridge, eat my chips.

But, I am not myself.


And some of the things I've had to do, that I'll have to keep doing are ugly, they are not clear cut. Their ambiguity brings me to a startled breathlessness.

I am not myself because I've been sitting on these half-broken things, this snooze-buttoning of my choices has found me, more than once, in bed with fast food.

So, in an effort to sober up my dreams, to degrease my bed, I have to do the ugly thing. I have to once again say the thing that starts dominoes I can't stop.

And I might puke.