Everything is getting through my skin, permeable paper-thin. There are rumors of birds fighting high up in the trees, their chatters louder as I strain to listen. They say, eighty percent of your thoughts today is the same as yesterday. The same thoughts circling higher and higher up between the birds and my brain. I shut off the TV and unlike all the Facebook newsfeed. I unfriend my in-laws, and lock my front door, blocking it with stacks of boxes. Everything is seeping through the cracks in the ceiling. My wine glass is empty. I drink Bordeaux late in the evening. It reminds me of my time in Paris. That too was an illusion.  My Paris was frigid, cold, unfeeling, unsafe. My Paris was only warm when I dream. I drink the wine without cheese because I can’t have anything that’s “white.” Because that’s what the diet dictates. Because I am trying to lose my belly fat which was caused by my stress hormone which  was stimulated through my mind’s overzealous survival mode. Everything is going through my body, like sand through the wire sieve. Everything is causing me to sink and bleed. Like how dumb the new Secretary of Education is. Like how blind the followers can be. Like how I am singing a song in the shower and I think, I am missing my moment to be mindful of water on my skin. Like how I forget to hold a conversation. Like how my conversations with my husband have all turned into rants about everything that has permeated my skin. Like how shaky my hands are in the morning.

This entry was posted in 2017, creative writing, poem, poetry, post of the day and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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