“The Tornado That Won’t Lift”
I sit and stare.
I stare into space.
I draw around words I have written,
as if they are someone else’s,
a foreign language
I cannot decipher.
I look at my piles of despair.
I see the force of my tornado
that just can’t get off the ground.
I’m sad.
My head is empty.
Not—
it’s voluptuously full.
My hormones have dipped,
my pattern unstitched.
It’s okay,
it’s just for today,
I tell myself.

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