Some nights, I break down
And write song lyrics on my bare legs in permanent marker,
As if I'm not going to regret it the next day.
But ink washes away faster than grief does
And scrubbing at the ink the next morning gives me something to do.
Some days I can almost convince myself
That the sweet-smelling soap will wash away my loneliness,
That the towel will wipe away my anger.
But a few days later, I'll write on myself again,
And all the cleaning will have been for nothing.
This poem was also included in a recently-published short collection of poetry, short fiction, and personal essays. Check out the author's book here! https://www.blurb.com/b/10764047-wanderer
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