Destinee Walter is a twice published poet from central Ohio who is studying Creative Writing. They find inspiration in the mundane and write about all things mystical and magical. Currently, they live with their wife, two cats, and one mangy dog.
Go to bed when the sun rises.
Wake up when the moonlight is washing
through your window. Leave the lamp off.
Pull the covers over your head,
squeeze the pillow to your chest until you feel your heart
Thumping under your skin
like the whisper of a dying butterfly’s wings. Contemplate
the vodka in your freezer
or that edible your friend gave you when you cried
in their basement at 4pm on a Wednesday
after you failed a psychology midterm. Contemplate
going back to sleep. Contemplate
tracing patterns in the murky darkness of the sheets
squeezing your eyes shut tight
until sparks waltz across your eyelids.
Get up anyway.
Grumble at the shadows in the corner of your room.
Drink a glass of water while staring at the vodka
because you think you’d rather drink vodka.
Unscrew the cap and sniff
the plastic bottle, 4 dollar vodka
you bought instead of a dinner
with the scraps of your last paycheck.
Run to the bathroom and spit up bile because
you’re not really sure when you ate last
but you’re pretty sure it was only
a handful of Rally’s fries in an empty parking lot
while screaming to some random song on the radio.
Decide to make toast after figuring out
brushing your teeth sounds like too much work.
Decide that the steps to make toast
is too many steps and eat the bread straight from the bag
while sitting on the floor. the sink is dripping and
the floor is cold and you feel like you’re burning up
so lay down on your back. Make sure you feel
the way your chest rises and falls with each breath.
All the places your skin connects with the floor.
Run jittery fingers around the wide chip in the floor
where you dropped a bowl last week.
Picture the chip growing into a hole
Into a pit
Into a chasm
Into something so deep it swallows you whole.
Stand up. Swallow your pills dry.
Gag when they catch in your throat.
Push the vodka aside and grab your water.
Ignore the way your teeth clack hard against the rim
in a way that makes you feel like throwing up again.
Don’t throw up.
Stay in the same pajamas you’ve been wearing
for a week. Stand in the shower until the weight of the
wet clothes makes you sit on your ass and
let the spray of water hit you in the face until it feels numb.
Leave the clothes tangled in the shower and turn the lights off.
Find a new outfit in the dark. It doesn’t matter how it looks.
Go to the window and sit. Sit and don’t move.
Sit and breathe and count the stars.
Look into the moon
and tell it you’ve been found.
Tell it you’re not hiding right now.
Tell it you’re ready to be in the light.
Say it until you start to believe it.
Laugh because who talks to the moon?
Laugh because you haven’t laughed in weeks. Not really.
Count the stars until you can take a breath
that doesn’t hurt to take.
Go to sleep. Tomorrow, count a few more stars.