WRONG SIDE OF THE BED IN THE RIGHT SKIN

These days I wake up on the wrong side of the bed wearing the right skin

The sky is begging for me to know that it’s blue, in a really loud way

I’m not trying to be a highlight reel anymore

There is not enough time in a day to apologize to my grip

For all of the things it held onto

These days I buy things without a return label

I hold my grudges up to the sun and watch as they melt

As they shrink back to the size they once were, 

When they fit into the palm of my hand

These days I write to my pain, 

We’ve always gotten along better long distance

I tell it I hope it has found a way to shape shift

To become gentle, kind

I have