It Took Me Longer to Title Poem Than It Did to Write It

I feel like a cup of old paint water.
I’m not even sure what that means.

It’s the same way that I feel like
an old rubber band
on my bedroom floor.
I meant to pick it up months ago, but it never budged.

I say that I’ll pick it up
tomorrow,
and tomorrow,
and tomorrow,
and tomorrow –

Until a whole summer has passed
and the only thing that has changed
is the way that I think of myself.

I never know what I mean.

I dig my nails into my fingertips

And when someone asks how I’m doing,
I say “I don’t know”

Because how can you explain your feelings when there’s no words to say?

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