HOLIDAY STATUS

I’ve shelved my grief. I’ll hollow underneath.
I’m lonely and deflated like the last blown party favor.
I am the shoulder with silver tinsel not rainbow confetti.

I do not exist apart from me.
I am not coordinated.
Watch me and see.
I am the midnight stagger.
I am the New Year’s warrior,
mirrorball battle-scarred.
I’ve crashed into my reflections, hard.

I am the peroxide on the shelf,
never used until something tragic
and comical works its blood spell.
I am a telemarketer in hell
selling only problems when you ring the bell.

I am good at myself. I am swimming in the drink.
I am a fish down to the bones.
I am alone. I am feral,
a cat lothario gone aero,
not concerned with today,
not tomorrow.

Why? When you can think all day about yesterday.
Why trust you, when I can spit and cuss at you?
I fall, not backwards but forwards–
away from your tender arms.

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