the only sunlight i ever see anymore is in the courtyard

The sunrise clouds this morning were orange
hot spurts of lava contrails shooting from the mouth of the cardboard horizon inverted volcano which reminded me of the upside-down symbol for
"woman"
the grass near the softball field that's part of the park by the river was blue-silver with melting frost and my chromatics were off
I'm asking the other one to save me a glass of red
because every time I drink cab sauv it's the only time I wear dark lipstick
it's hard to tell the kids they can be anything they wanna be
as long as they're not physically, verbally, or emotionally scarring themselves or anyone else
without telling them because I haven't been given that power
I am low on that ladder
I wanted to tap out a message for you on the small plastic stairs with my loud cheap cute shoes but I realized I don't know Morse
they slide everywhere on that carpet
Bonfire of the Vanities is a lot of what New York was to Boxer and I love it, it conjures up images with similar aesthetics and disenchantments with neckties and collars
I see the beauty of being a child and still don't want any
every song stuck in my record player and every minute's sky reminded me again and again of why I want to get lost in Iceland
I had to press my back against the filing cabinets to let her hand some test booklets to one of my bosses and whatever scent she was wearing stabbed me in my sleep and I didn't wake up to feel it
he texted me today, "Hey, what's up?" a month after I was not sure if he was kidding when I told him "friendship" and he said "Thank god, you're not really my type" and thank god, I just don't even bother to put up with that subtle shit anymore
I don't know what my expectations of anything are because I'm so used to apologizing to the situations I weave in my mind and seeing all sides of everything
I've never worn blinders long enough to be what people call truly ambitious but I still want a powerful body
I escape these days by getting away from people, even the ones I like
how will I ever live on my own
how will I ever get your forehead to touch mine like that
how will I ever change


this has been a sentence of fragments.

-Dana Winter