yesnothankyou

What could I say? I am made over again each morning. My daughter puts her hands on either side of my face and tells me who I am. What else could I say? Sometimes it’s like I’m so unresolved it stings, there is still only sun in this path. You ask and I tell you everything, all these years and I’ve never been able to think of any reason not to. What’s another thing I could say? You were falling asleep next to me, your chin against my thigh. You told me I’ve always had great legs—said you were still spectacularly in despair about them. What do you think that gesture’s called? It feels like the right kind. Life is so good, wish you’d tell me more about it. What’s something else I could say? I don’t know how to sleep anymore. I write these things and I remember I’m a person, cutting my teeth, think I feel real again. I’m just fucking rattling the windows. What’s anything else I could say? My heart is a terribly pliant thing. Sometimes I think I belong to my own unholiness. I find the right words and they’re like links in a chain, but my hands keep getting cut on the fence. I let my painfully soft interior come undone around it and I’m terrified they sound right but they’re not saying anything. do you see what I mean? It always sounds a little worse than it really is.