i throw a temper tantrum at absolutely no one, alone in the kitchen with my uncooked pasta, and my canned vegetables. because i can’t do this again.
so i run the red light. so i’m late for work, so i’m running out of time, just like always. so i write on the bus, and watch couples come and go from the corner of my eye. they’re lost in their own world.
and i’m walking home on a cold autumn night, to watch sitcoms until 1am, and forget about my life, because why bother trying when you can’t win, right?
i stare wistfully at the new apartment buildings. squirrel away my earnings, and write my will early. check the news nonstop, and no shit i’m angry.
because the sunflowers are wilting. because my bones breaking away. and you lied, didn’t you? all those nights ago, when you held me close, and promised it was gonna be okay?
and now i’m alone in the kitchen, while the hurricane hits me. you call my stubbornness a gift, but it’s not, really.