the sun climbed into my windows,
an easy task on a Wednesday morning—
I never remember to close my blinds on Tuesday nights.
I like it when the night keeps me company, I guess.
yet that’s besides the point,
as many of my descriptions seem to be,
because even with the morning beams
breaking through the grainy window,
an art in itself that my mind captures like a camera every daybreak and its following demise,
I don’t feel it.
I feel nothing of warmth and welcomes and wisdom
when my shadow is defeated by the sun;
instead I feel never ending exasperation.
numb to it I usually am,
ignorant to it I prefer to be,
yet it has a way—
always has even when the day is bright and blessed—
to remind me of its presence.
today, it was the pills.
cerulean like the sea and flowing just the same,
my Chosen Pill slipped and flew and fell
I wish the little things didn’t ruin it,
didn’t bother be so much.
maybe I could handle it better.
for I like when the sun greets me,
a friend in this void of nothing,
something bigger that I can handle
when everything else feels far from my grasp.
my influence means nothing when senators debate my future,
ignoring the Green New Deal and choosing to compromise on a substantial stimulus package.
and it means nothing when they say I am not what they need,
ruined by Those People not even the echo of my disaster is heard.
and it means nothing when I myself shatter my own stowaway haven,
not even letting my own lungs truly breathe.
I can’t handle my future beyond my own hands,
their voices and piercing words,
nor my own oracle soul of sorts,
and I can’t handle a falling pill,
a fallen sparkle off my bedazzled goggles,
a hole in the bottom of sock.
numbness is what I know now
in place of all this disappointment at sun’s daybreak—
at least at night that feels normal.