there's these moments where I can't help but cringe.
the discomfort is really specific,
like the curdling noise of Styrofoam being meddled with.
and...
i smile involuntarily, ironically.
and...
i started speaking (really just whispering to myself)
with my hands like an angry girl who's about to fight.
because i am about to fight.
myself that is.
i have enough sense to scream at my
sisyphean dumb ***** self,
so why can't i use that same sense to squash her
before she does more damage?
hindsight only does so much when i end up
in the same lonely spot
endlessly.