Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s Peculiar mood swings Taught me how to ignore The chaos of human sentiment. And so my features remain stoic since.
I have learned how to channel the anxiety Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath, And a discordant mind. It is possible– Quite easy, actually– To translate a torrent of worry Into potential energy.
Three years in a closet Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses And forget there is ugliness in the world. As much as I preach the virtue of honesty, Lying has become second nature, If only to keep these shark-infested waters Calm for one more day.
I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now, As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby. However, I recently found myself mistaken; I am not a product of Utilitarianism.
Recently, I’ve been feeling– Oddly ill. With a loss of appetite, A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate, Difficulty sleeping, And a racing heartbeat. These symptoms are purely somatic And therefore, quite frustrating.
I met a girl last week; I wonder if I caught it from her.