The seconds
tick
tick
ticked on by into minutes
the minutes came out to a year.
365 days of ebbs and flows
I am physically exhausted
Emotionally accosted by all—

Unable to approach the mirror
Or face my melting features
I am 28 years old today,
with only empty hands to show...
See? I have nothing.

I’ll buy cigarettes today, no one can stop me
And move lazily through the aisles of **** I don’t need (44.19)
I’ll lay in bed and write poetry— sad poetry—
Get high and **** myself
Again
and again
and again.

I am 28 years old today
with only empty hands to show...
See?
I have nothing.

I am your silly girl—
Yet here you stand, invested;
despite the smirk that pulls across your lips when you consider something smarmy.

I am your silly girl—
I blurt the ridiculous ramblings as they manifest behind my developing expression.
The flash of that very specific grin
when you’ve figured me out;
(you’re always figuring me out before I do)
followed by the briefest pause as you weigh your advancing words carefully:
Boy, I am enjoying this.
You’re so polite when you set me in my place, and it makes me want to kiss your face
Again and again and again.

I am your silly girl:
Paint stained fingers, tipped with clashing colors on cheap acrylic.
A homage to the blonde headed ditz with soul
A role I’ve always envied, but had been too smart to relax into.
(I stir my black coffee with twizzler sticks and eat lucky charms at midnight)

It has been so exhausting to exist without you:
Isn’t that funny?
I have spent thirty years establishing my lonely ant hill above everyone and everything else,
But within hours, I abandoned it all
to live among your interpretation of the world,
where I seek your translation every day.

Before you got here, I sought the validation that I was smart by ******* stupid men.
Today,
I have never felt as smart as I do, having decided to let myself love you.
I am your silly girl.

The early morning light; vibrant and glowing
casts soft splotches of robin’s egg blue across the flesh of your stomach.

Only a handful of short hours before
words
words
words fell rapidly from us—
Catching up on the thirty years that we had existed outside of one another’s lives.
Now, there are no words— only sharp inhales and that which is tactile and tangible.

I take you between my lips
My mouth, your ****
The physical manifestation of the palpable chemistry between us.
In this moment:
I was
made
for this.

The first task of my day, your legs vibrating beneath my weight in carnal anticipation.
ONE - wipe the lack of sleep from the corners of my eyes.
TWO - take a shower.
THREE - get dressed.
FOUR - swallow the pills.
FIVE - drink the coffee.
SIX - Get. The. ****. Done.
But first—
I’ll make you ***.