Today I went to the ophthalmologist and the eye nurse walked me down the hallway and looked ahead and said jesus you’re getting old. I laughed and said yeah twenty years, and thought about jumping out of the window. My mother wants me to see a therapist to find out why I’m so afraid of getting older. I think I’m just afraid of not having the excuse of being young.

We were driving home from the train station when we saw a truck pull off the road. I could see a dark stain on the asphalt and its body on display in the headlights. I said I really hope that’s not a dog. Aliyah said It could be a deer, so I told myself it was. I’m sorry that it’s easier to lie to myself, and I’m sorry to the probable dog by the train station, and I’m sorry that I care for dogs more than deer. But I’m thankful it was too dark to really see. It’s so much harder to pretend once you’ve seen the red on the concrete.

There is a mocking bird that lives outside my bedroom who does not understand time or common decency. He screams his alarm clock bird sounds at 2am or 8am or 11am or whenever he wants to, really. As long as I am trying to sleep. I feel bad for resenting him; it must be fun to live outside the constraints of time. But it is early and I am tired and I’m thinking of buying a BB gun.

When I was young my mother told me a story of a woman who was eaten by the earth. She was hanging her wash to dry, and was swallowed by a sinkhole. Now that I’m older I’m not sure if it was true, but I think I know the feeling.

There I was,
wearing the earth
strapped to my back
worrying
about the enormity
of it all
the infinitesimally
small

And there you were,
back pressed to grass
connecting the dots.

Today I sat on my bed and
practiced figure drawing
while I listened to amy winehouse
I paused to look at my friend
and she looked at me
knowingly
so I used a charles
bukowski book as a lap desk
to pack a bowl.

I asked my boyfriend what
I should write about tonight
and he said
the passing of time,

I looked up to the clock
hung on my wall
frozen at 2:46
and I thought about the
painting behind the hands
carnation, lily, lily, rose
and the  words behind
the hands in front of
carnation, lily, lily, rose;
the kids don’t stand a chance.
so
I thought about myself

How I should have
been born on april fools
day and how right now
I feel like a troll is holding
me up by my ankles and my
hair is on fire and I have
the words this is fine
tattooed on my forehead
upside down
so the camera can read it
when it zooms in on
my face.

I’ll tell you
about the light

How it spills in
from my ice cube windows
and washes over my bed sheets

I’ll tell you of
the cruelties
I have shown myself
in its absence

How it peers through the shutters
in the morning
and casts itself over me,
with sympathy

How it unveils the room,
the same as always
but my body
so slightly different

How it illuminates the bags
under my eyes
the blankets on the floor,
and the marks
down my spine
my shaking hands
left there the night
before

And if you ask,
the light will tell you about me
who it knows me to be

On good mornings
with steady hands
and rested eyes
and its efforts
to keep me safe
on nights when
I can’t speak or
stand still
to fight

If you ask,
the light will tell you
to wake me up gently;
to show me
the blue of my veins
and remind me that
this morning
I am still alive