The mirror doesn’t match my insides. Cold. Confident. In control. The girl who doesn’t give a shit. Who never stays the night. Who jumps out of windows. I’ve seen who I’ve become. Melting in the sun. Saying sorry when I’m not. I’m the one who runs over his luggage. Kisses him when I don’t even know his name. Sits crosslegged on a barstool. Eats bananas and spits peels under his feet. Fuck mirrors. I’m going to cover mine like someone just died. I’ve been taught to chew with my mouth closed. He likes it open. There’s a moment right before climax that I can say anything. Confessing fantasies I only whisper, even in my dreams. I taught my son to drive a car while my mind was on other things. My two-timing friends calling me in shame. Telling me what they do behind my back. Giving haircuts and blowjobs, where they’re teeth shouldn’t be. Fuck friends. He looks at me like I’m 24. Roaming the streets along Ventura blvd looking for the divest of bars. Anything that smells like alcohol will get my lips wet. He looks at me like he knows what I’m thinking but that’s a lie. I don’t think like that anymore. He looks at me like I might disappear at any moment. Under the dark moon. All dressed in black. The curse of the crow feather. The sneezing frog. I wait for dreams, of tongues and words and ears. Of organs and bloodstreams and mouths. Of fur and claws and teeth. Dreams of cutting my hair. Dreams of unkept rooms. Dreams swimming with me all day long. Through chores. Through wishing wells. Though last nights stars. Fuck dreams. The morning comes with a haze that won’t let me open my eyes. It’s all wrong. It’s words with no meaning. It’s tragedy with no comedy. It’s truth between the lies. Love has turned my mind to mud. He picks twigs from the puppy’s head. He kisses me with deep intention. He promises me rainbows. There’re rivers gushing when I think I’m on a wooden floor. There’re sharks in my nail beds. There’re holes in my closet. I don’t know where the brooms went. I don’t know who stole my Valium. I don’t know what empathy means. I’m not sure who said goodbye. Through Fights. Tears. Fucking. Tequila. Fires. Betrayal. Beds. I can’t stand the waiting. Through Stools. Showers. Routines. Boys. Moons. Pillows. Crosses. Standing in a room that never moves. Smelling like a hard drink. It started with a look. Scattering marbles on my driveway. Stuffing my garage with surfboards and kites. A home movie of candles and scotch. Of cigars and women. Of music and flights. Floating hairs in my eyes. An elephant on my chest. Noise in my teeth. It’s a cavity of thoughts. Looping future regrets. The big resolve. Where cold resolves. Where foreheads fall. Where I’m rebel behind bars.
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