Visits from the spirit

Compromise is a good word, but compromised isn’t? Stripping the sheets off the bed. The bowl has to be washed first, but it’s too big on the rack. Shadows in my brain like shrapnel. They didn’t do anything wrong, except for everything. Why do I always have to be right? Can I talk clinically about how much I love you? Can I stand in the center and scream it out loud? I’m special, but only when I put in the effort to be. So am I really special at all? Feels like such a thing should be more effortless than it is. Did your bidding, but I shouldn’t have. You saw my face and knew it too. I hate that you put me in that position—or did I do it to myself? That’s why we aren’t friends, in case you needed that information. Strawberry is abroad and I would feel better if I could explain this to him. This man has lived with me and understands that my pettiness is a spirit I need to periodically expel and jar, like a snotty growth behind beveled glass. My pantry, a curation of every minor hatred,…