This morning I was all black daffodils and headless mannequins,

the hours turned into twisted clouds that always look like rain,

this morning I was ripped white duvets, spindle bookcases,

thick laminate book covers stolen from library stacks.

Tonight I am a yawning cat stretch, a heart one beat off,

a tiny jar of salt from leftover tears.

I shoved my face into a towel today, let out one sob and

went about my day.

(I can’t even find the effort to cry.)

Tonight I am a half-deflated balloon, forgotten in the corner of a room,

I am the sun hiding on the other side of the world,

I am a smile just waiting to burst,

I am sore muscle ripped sweatshirt blanket cocoon.

This morning I was an unopened window and tonight I am

blinds hiding the night.