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January 30, 2017 Poetry


Isaac Pickell

Today photo

you wore a shirt with balloons on it, drank whiskey, stood in front of a mirror, had violent ideation, told a white lie to a child, thought of becoming a spiritual humanist, edited down a few nice words for your dog, pretended to sleep in so you could stare at the ceiling for a while, ate two dollar menu items from McDonald's with hot picante salsa, shared tea, refreshed your inbox, drank six cups of coffee without sugar or cream, debated identities of blackness, tried on four different outfits, conflated clothing and condition, looked at a couple naked women on tumblr, kissed twice, considered writing on a bathroom wall, felt self-conscious about how witty you could be, obsessed over how unfair everything is, felt jealous, felt proud, felt grateful, felt in love and shaky, said things under your breath, smoked a thirteenth cigarette, spent fifteen minutes worrying over your legs looking too gay the way you like to cross them, read an article about a prehistoric species of hominid that brought on twenty or so minutes of existential dread, double-knotted your shoes, undid one of the knots, snuck a swig of whiskey before an afternoon shower, questioned your viability, watched two hours of television you didn't particularly enjoy, didn't cry, didn't cry, wondered if you get sad anymore, felt righteous anger, felt defeated and bored, felt bored, felt bored, wondered if other people enjoy the day-to-day, worried about the mileage on your car, decided that if you ever started a band its name would be grievance garden, wrote 350 words named flash fiction so you wouldn't have to finish your thought, worried over trees, took the same road you take once or twice a week but experienced it differently, like it was new or reborn, vibrant in a way you could not remember it being, briefly appreciated sunset, talked about how depressing the city is while enjoying its company, were drawn toward conversation but felt too self-conscious to pursue it, smoked a twenty-fifth cigarette, took the same road, looked your dog in her eyes and became uncomfortable with how limited her potential experiences could be, touched her body, made a real plan for self-improvement pretending it was poetry, occasionally tapping keys to express words and line breaks that weren't happening, made a list in your head so you couldn't feel done when you lost it. 


image: Carabella Sands