Five: Big Bed, Little Me

Chewing fingernails like the answer’s hidden beneath them, I wait, existing
like any other woman, expectation beeping, expecting some asshole’s approval.
It seems I’m twisting into myself, forgetting to slap wrists as I mellow with age,
tired of hitting out against anything that comes close enough to feel my breath.
It’s not fair t o you, to be on the other end of my boredom, but it’s the grey version of  love
and it’s the only one I know. My bed is big and my sheets are clean and I think (I know)
I can make that work for one more night; anything can become a habit.

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Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

4 thoughts on “Five: Big Bed, Little Me”

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