I’ve been watching Netflix Christmas movies all day.
Now it’s 4:51 in the early evening and both eyes are
worn through like a child’s socks after summer.
I look out my window and can’t see the house next door.
It’s no surprise that I can’t muster the motivation to leave this house
or even bring myself to get out of bed for more than a snack or the bathroom.
Every day is a challenge of stretching money, to make plans, to stay busy.
Occupy the mind, the body, the minutes so I don’t stare off
at painted walls wondering if my phone will ring in three minutes or three days.
Wondering if you have eaten today or taken a shower.
Wondering if you are hearing those voices or if they are quiet today.
Wondering if today is the day you will finally get help and we can be together again.
Aimee Nicole is a queer poet currently residing in Rhode Island. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Roger Williams University and has been published by the Red Booth Review, Psychic Meatloaf, Petrichor Review, Dying Dahlia Review and Balloons Lit Journal, among others. On the weekends she is an avid roller derby spectator.