Still summer here

You have to get rid of the air conditioner
before I throw it out of the window
The air is heavy, and
even walking around
wearing
only a tank top feels labor-intensive
but the air is real
not this manufactured shit
that smells like an arrogant prick’s breath
isn’t he pretty? Doesn’t it smell
good even when he defecates
something like lavender with
the sound of applause following him
‘good boy’ and ‘shall I wipe your ass, sir?’

but then a fake and a phony I have become
painting myself into something
suitable
sharing space with trees and clouds
might not be glamorous
but I’ve been three days away
from a bath
to remember what I smell like

I did not bring into account
all my weaknesses
and every time you lied, isn’t it funny
when we are in the middle of healing
finding the shadows once more
that never really got eradicated
they were merely put off
like an ignored splinter
flaming red and full of pus

Don’t get me wrong
I know I sound angry
a shrew tired of injustice
with a chip on my shoulder
and after all my tantrums
there is one man that will always see me that way
but I am not afraid
of looking bad
I am not scared of you
seeing the chipped nail polish
and the split ends
that’s what becomes of a girl
who lives with the wind and the rain
you can’t stay untarnished when you
are put away wet

All the wasted coffee
the extra countless gallons I had to brew
because the coffee pots
won’t make just two cups
and cutting corners in my solitary confinement
makes a weak drink

But if you polish me up once in a while
you’ll find that some days I can shine
despite my tendency to complain
all the disloyal skin cells that turn to wrinkles
are my friends as much as the ones that bring roses to my cheeks
on a sunny day
when I am not

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4 thoughts on “Still summer here

  1. I know no one as honest as you in your writing:
    Unafraid of the spikes and prickles that appear when you strip away the cosy and comfortable lies.
    You examine and are then able to communicate with devastating imagery – three days away from a bath… put away wet.

    This poem is as brave and fascinating as an open wound

    Like

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