What can I do differently

to be a better person?

 

This thought

creeps up

like a thief in the night

with the same kind

of timing:

2 AM.

And the heat

of my apartment

is not from the radiators

alone.

 

Who am I,

who do I want to be?

Why the fuck am I 

the way that I am?

 

Sheets tangle at my feet

and the cat stretches out

with a yawn

bending backward

paws straight out.

My arms are clenched

tightly to my chest:

am I breathing

right?

 

Deep inhale.

Slow, cleansing exhale.

 

My skin itches

my jaw aches

the light of the moon

hidden

a refusal of

the wisdoms

I awoke looking for.

 

2 AM

and somehow

I think I can solve

these questions

long unanswered,

naked in warm sheets,

pretending to expose

everything

but really

showing you nothing

at all.

2 Replies to “Untitled Poem at 2AM”

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