Wellness.

There is no word

for the feeling of loss

that accompanies

no longer being able to Rebel.

I’m not talking Sneaking Out At Night

AIM Signed In To Hold Up My Phone Line

Mom Is Out On A Date Again

Let’s Go Look At The Stars

Rebelling.

I’m talking Four AM Cigarette Tongues

And The Back Corner In That Old Bar.

I’m talking Finishing A Handle

And Reaching For A Fifth

French Fry Smile And A Beer In My Pocket

Hands In My Shirt And A Laugh

Hanging Hot In the Cold

Air Just In Front Of My Teeth.

Life isn’t made on sidewalks

in the dark but

sometimes it feels good to pretend.

To stumble into diner booths

at six am ordering

chili and eggs

because the protein soaks it up

as I pour salt

on the same spot

I’ve been pouring it all night

because “just once more, why not?”

To stand on a corner all alone

eight in the fucking morning

laughing with all of the versions of me

that thought it was a good idea

and ignoring the ones that didn’t

knowing I’ll never be this much

of anything ever again.

I don’t need a big life

a grand life

a life worth living even

but somewhere in me

is that girl with square shoulders

whose gums bleed

the morning after.

The one who says,

“might as well,”

and

“I’ve got nothing to lose,”

and

“go on and try me,

give me everything you’ve got.”