when you wake up this morning, remember to wash last weekend off your face.
(make sure you remember where the bathroom is.)
today you will check your Facebook newsfeed one time too many, anxious to see the little green dot flash next to his name.
turn off your computer. your wi-fi can’t substitute for friends.
you don’t need to eat all of the ice cream, but you may need some help.
do not think about him.
remember you have a mother. think about how she used to wash your hair in the sink, how she gently stroked the mental illness out from the ends of your kinky tendrils, how she deep conditioned, how she loved from the roots up.
now, think about the last time you’ve called her.
today you will meet a handsome stranger–
he cannot save you.
you will spend the better half of 2 months attempting to heal your wounds in his lips.
his kisses are poison and your’s–a blessing.
you will lose your job today. try not to lose your mind.
(do not think about him).
you will lose your apartment today. at first, you’ll think about how you will no longer have the freedom to dance naked in your own kitchen. after, you’ll think about how much you want to die.
pack up your things and go straight home. do not stay at a friend’s house because you deserve something better than a couch. do not collect money. do not pass ‘go.’
today you won’t wake up in a haze. don’t question it; this is good. blinking, you will realize this bed is yours and that your brain belongs to you. as your feet touch the floor, you will think about painting your toenails in a shade different from black.
do just that–but make yourself breakfast first.
open the curtains but don’t feel pressured to open up the blinds–this is enough. you are enough.
make sure you remember where the bathroom is. turn off the computer. it’s okay to need help. do not think about him. remember you have a mother. walk away from him. try not to lose your mind. you deserve so much more.
you are enough.