Salt Water

Comparing yourself to others. That’s how you know who you are. Like clay shaped by hands that aren’t yours. Do you have control on days you can’t lift your body but have dishes to clean? Phone calls to make. People to see. No one gives you mercy.

Gift your lovers what you couldn’t gift yourself. Love them to the bone. Push yourself to extremes. Sacrifice and fight. Then, watch them leave. Torment yourself. Tumble down flights of stairs. All for someone who wasn’t you, the most important of all.

You ache, crushed underneath a boulder. Hope is somewhere. Even if a parakeet is released from its cage, it could survive. There’s fate. And there’s just living.

Your orange juice is served warm. Your eggs are raw on a plate with moldy avocado. You say you don’t care anymore. But you do. You dampen your breakfast with tears. This salt water will always run down your face. For the good and the bad.