i’m up before the sun has a chance to heat the water in this earth, and on these streets, and under my skin.
birds speak a language i don’t from tangled phone lines and deep blue trees.
i’m not used to the humidity my body can make in this southern state, to the dense white smoke that leaves my mouth only to adhere to the front of me.
i’m still drunk from last night,
still dizzy from man telling me he loves me
telling me he means it
telling me he’s serious this time.
still nauseous from watching complexities under flesh,
from hearing them try to straighten themseves out of your mouth,
from always being made a fucking mystery.
i am not your woman.
i am not enigma crafted for you to solve,
not the object of your desire.
i am woman wrapped in denim and black, and i am wet hair and scarred skin,
i am mine, i am mine, i am mine.