I understand that I am
Awake, again.
I’m wrong for a song so
I pull off my night scarf of disillusionment
and turn on the warm stream of mindfulness
to wash off the night’s rest smell of decay
on my only skin
I’m right for a fight so
I wash the bias off my face with witch hazel
and paint over all of the depression dark spots
and imminent doom marks
with the strongest, orangest therapeutic concealer
that I can afford
I’m dry and confused and scared and the universe’s design so
I turn on music, all of the music, any music
that makes me forget about my stressors and strife and future mistakes
like thinking somebody in another body could love my body
and the caterpillar under my butterfly
and forces what I can control to move my hips
from side to side and I stare at my frame
all of it in the shadows and in mirrors
and try to understand between a small lunch and my tasks
what kind of monster I truly live within
I’m significant and irrelevant so
Am I right right now
and if I am fated, how could I be wrong?
I’m wrong for a song so
how can I tame my emotions
this is what concerns me throughout the hours of the single day I exist
before my only ride in the clean brown skin
of this big-bodied Benz
actually ends.