Adaptive Nighttime Ruminations
After a long day of disabled life,
There should be greater solace
Than looking at the ceiling
And reminding myself that Taylor Swift
Gets morning breath and pit stains.
Mine has been an unfinished miracle.
I’d like to be born again,
Maybe live as a gal who could win.
Instead of half-finished and waiting
For a chance that wasn’t fresh when I
Might have gotten it, and now might just
Crumble like a dead leaf
In my barely-used ornamental hands.
I’ve had time for my friends to get divorced,
For not getting married “until *everybody* can!1” to
Go from a dare to a decision to one of the thousands of rights that
My email fears could disappear every morning.
With my own status as Rookie of Some Other Year
(past or future…does it matter? Pretty soon looking forward will hurt like looking back)
Largely unchanged
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