Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2019
It is 11:30 at night, and I wreak of essential oils
I believe I must be some sort of ethereal goddess to smell so good
I am ******
But I massage my body from top to bottom in unscented lotion and gently cover each body part in warn socks, sweater, sweat pants because
I am ******
I paint my nails and heat up a rice bag for my neck
I stretch out my muscles
I am happy with myself
I wonder why I am only happy with myself when I am ******
I imagine this working better when spoken
Emily
Written by
Emily
162
   Jules
Please log in to view and add comments on poems