SICK DAY
I write when I am terrified,
When I cannot pretend
That I am her, your merry,
Hungry,
Straight-arrowed friend
Who laughs into your face and
Ruffles your hair
When you are sad
When I am sad,
I shiver in my sweater
When I get bad,
I stay still, chilled with the cold
And if you look into my eyes
You will see me running
With the wind
Away from this place
The truth is,
I am not good at life.
I’m not;
Especially when I am sad
But I try to master my trade—life—every day
Because by God,
I want to show you that you can do it
too
I write when I am sick
It’s a defensive tactic that I use
Because that’s when I’m at my worst
I stop slapping ice packs on all my sidewalk-scratches,
Bad-day-bruises, and tears
I say,
“Well, well, well.
Aren’t we feeling feverish, dear?
Ah-ah-ah. A cough drop isn’t going to fix this.”
And the pain starts to melt away
The cold that kept my spirit from thawing
And when I get warm,
I get hot
Steam sears away the forever winter
That I use to keep my cool
I write when I am a fool
And I finally forgive myself for it
So I start to say all these appalling, wild things
That I usually just keep in my head
(And I even have the balls believe them)
I gather up all of my worry and embarrassed silences
And spin them into thread so fine
That one could turn them into cloth
The kind that dreams and wonder are made of
I sit down, cross-legged, in the middle of a pathway
That I once saw for real, twinkling,
Up there in the night sky
And I face myself
At first, I point accusingly at her, at me,
As if to say,
“This is all your fault, isn’t it?”
But she—I—just laughs into my face,
Ruffles my hair
And my accusing finger starts to tremble
When you see me looking still and strong,
I am a stressball, a wannabe, a forgetter
a sigher, a liar to myself and to others
I am ashamed.
But when I look like this
Tousled hair, watery eyes, ragged throat
Broken heart
I am a writer
And during that otherworldly When,
I am all the things that I was born to be
I’m the best version of me while at my worst
And at that point,
I’m too leaky and infectious to show you
So I run away
From this… really nervous girl
Who just happens to be your friend
And jot down all the messy evidence
So that when I stop hacking and moaning,
Drooling all over my pillow
And barking like a dog in my delirium
I can step out into the light
A little bit more me
Than I was yesterday
So--
I’ll kick off the introductions
Hi.
I am me, and I ah-ah…
(It’ll pass, it’ll pass)
I’m just so glad to be here with… chooo!
And
I would love to be your friend
I write when I am terrified,
When I cannot pretend
That I am her, your merry,
Hungry,
Straight-arrowed friend
Who laughs into your face and
Ruffles your hair
When you are sad
When I am sad,
I shiver in my sweater
When I get bad,
I stay still, chilled with the cold
And if you look into my eyes
You will see me running
With the wind
Away from this place
The truth is,
I am not good at life.
I’m not;
Especially when I am sad
But I try to master my trade—life—every day
Because by God,
I want to show you that you can do it
too
I write when I am sick
It’s a defensive tactic that I use
Because that’s when I’m at my worst
I stop slapping ice packs on all my sidewalk-scratches,
Bad-day-bruises, and tears
I say,
“Well, well, well.
Aren’t we feeling feverish, dear?
Ah-ah-ah. A cough drop isn’t going to fix this.”
And the pain starts to melt away
The cold that kept my spirit from thawing
And when I get warm,
I get hot
Steam sears away the forever winter
That I use to keep my cool
I write when I am a fool
And I finally forgive myself for it
So I start to say all these appalling, wild things
That I usually just keep in my head
(And I even have the balls believe them)
I gather up all of my worry and embarrassed silences
And spin them into thread so fine
That one could turn them into cloth
The kind that dreams and wonder are made of
I sit down, cross-legged, in the middle of a pathway
That I once saw for real, twinkling,
Up there in the night sky
And I face myself
At first, I point accusingly at her, at me,
As if to say,
“This is all your fault, isn’t it?”
But she—I—just laughs into my face,
Ruffles my hair
And my accusing finger starts to tremble
When you see me looking still and strong,
I am a stressball, a wannabe, a forgetter
a sigher, a liar to myself and to others
I am ashamed.
But when I look like this
Tousled hair, watery eyes, ragged throat
Broken heart
I am a writer
And during that otherworldly When,
I am all the things that I was born to be
I’m the best version of me while at my worst
And at that point,
I’m too leaky and infectious to show you
So I run away
From this… really nervous girl
Who just happens to be your friend
And jot down all the messy evidence
So that when I stop hacking and moaning,
Drooling all over my pillow
And barking like a dog in my delirium
I can step out into the light
A little bit more me
Than I was yesterday
So--
I’ll kick off the introductions
Hi.
I am me, and I ah-ah…
(It’ll pass, it’ll pass)
I’m just so glad to be here with… chooo!
And
I would love to be your friend