Midnight Blue, like the crayon.

It's well past 3 a.m. and

I haven't gone to bed early,

like I had promised myself.

Instead, I'm up,

writing poetry,

thinking of ways to stop using

"I, myself," and "me" so much in one line.

 

When it's late, quiet and cold like this,

I end up contemplating all of my partners;

their hair,

their hands,

their lips,

their laughs,

and what it is about them

that makes my skin crawl.

Usually I conclude that it's me,

not them,

that I loathe so much,

until I remember that I'm great,

funny, smart, and pretty,

and it's probably just because I have divorced parents

that I'm so fucked up.

 

Then I cry, and eat,

and watch reality tv,

and wait for someone to text my phone.

They don't, and I feel friendless,

so I compulsively check my online profiles

and chat with acquaintences I usually don't think of.

 

Then, I remember:

Oh, right. I'm always this f*****g moody at night.

 

Reviews

[paradoxical]

I really enjoyed this, and I think the title is perfect. I too would like to thank you for sharing.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Midnight blue is a perfect title for the way you are feeling. Thank you for sharing. Debileah