a freshly painted living room

there’s paint on the corner of the faded green couch

and I am fine.

broken fingernails dig into too-soft palms

unmarked by the goals of my spirit

a promise,

a new beginning.

when I reach for my phone, it doesn’t buzz

I look anyway, just to see

a collection of faces; marked by dots

red and purple squares in a neat row

unopened.

empty promises weigh like my mother’s best earrings,

tearing down my mind like an earlobe;

my feet stumble beneath me

when I try to stand

paint-flecked toes tangling in denim and cotton –

my shackles are soft,

unbreakable.

lists the length of my palms

reach out across my desk

(I have long fingers

and my handwriting is small)

your name tastes sour on my lips,

so sweet on the tip of my tongue.

your words, as always, marked

a little green dot

unread.

I tell you it’s handled

I’m meeting <del>her him</del> tomorrow

my bedroom floor is empty, swept clean

the paperwork was in last week

and I am fine.

Tuesday, 11:08 pm

It looks like there’s a weather delay. I’m sorry, honey, we really wante

the mask I wear matches the paint on my walls

the tips of my toes

trust me, it’s prettier than the <del>truth</del> that lies behind.