Mad, free writing
Pulling the curtains to cover her nude figure,
singing songs about candy cigarettes and cat naps,
she pirouettes and says, “sure looks like rain.”
I can’t stand the circus act, I’m unraveling,
canoeing through bobby pins and hair bows.
Clinching fists and twisting my fingers
in a wave of anxious frustration
like gnarled roots and candy stuck in hair.
I’m just short of kicking and screaming
and responding in all CAPS like a middle school drama queen.
She kisses like a dog, all over and unconditionally,
and I just want to pry off my fingernails.
I’m so in love that it makes me mad.