I tell people I grew tired of feeling,
so I decided to stop. Just like that.
Cut the melodrama. I have matters
to tend to. Weeds to pull, papers
to write. No capacity for mourning,
no time to process, no mental space
for any kind of earth-shattering emotion.
I’d like to order a blank slate, please,
I bargained with the universe one night,
so apparently, this is just how I live now.
I just wake up each day and promise
to keep composure. I can control the flux.
I am my own government.
A new law: nothing can seep into my skin
if I don’t touch it. It’s that simple.
But it’s impossible for me to move
and not be moved. This I realized
as I watched probably the thousandth
sunset of my life bleed into the horizon
and felt its colors seeping into me, too.