Done Masking
Pardon the flailing hand
the impromptu dancing
sudden silence like
a blown out candle
zero tolerance
for stickiness
having to be 100%
dry before putting
my clothes
back on
lateness
leaving early
irish goodbye
texting from
the Uber, sorry,
sorry, I love you!
frequent
smoke breaks
deadline that
came & went
beautiful meal you
couldn’t pay me to eat
executive
decisions
needs dying
in congress
forgotten
birthdays
giggling when
I should not
crying when
I should not
moving when
I should not
adderall
shortage
opening boxes like
something rabid
excuses
excuses
dysphoric
validity
the only thing standing
between me and panic
is an upside
down sock
vocal tics I had as a child:
the sound of a movie punch
every three or so minutes,
suppressing it in the Apple
Bee’s booth, the table top
epoxy encasing backwater
memories, slain deer &
catfish caught from the crick.
Rural Ohio isn’t the ideal place for
someone who gets overly emotional at
the music their video game
made during idle moments.
Pardon the tears
because there’s a lot
and there’ll be many more
& I promise no one will
see them coming, like rain
you weren’t expecting but aren’t
exactly mad about. How often
am I in the mood for a shower?
