Taking my shoes off when I get home

Well, of course I’ve tried lavender. And collecting baby teeth. And stringing them up like holiday
decorations. And buying tupperware. And recycling. And reading poetry about locking your jaw.
And reading poetry about unlocking your jaw. And naming my sharks. And looking at a
shepherd’s pie in the frozen food aisle of Target. And tasting blackcurrants. And reminding
myself what forests smell like before I go to sleep each night –like pistols and mint sauce. And
picking at my burns. And putting the scabs in my pocket, just in case I come across a
microscope. And trying to cry while swimming. And blowing out my headphones. And
ripping book pages into strips. And lining them up like toy soldiers, like how my mom
used to cut my toast. And being rude to people I find rude. And keeping a list of zip
codes that I like to say out loud. And mending my body with ink. And metal. And almost getting
on trains. And buying a jump rope. And kissing kissless red solo cups. And swallowing salt
water so I can have an ocean wherever I go, being able to peek into my veins for messages in
bottles. And buying tiny plants. And promising not to give up on them, but then watching them
die with an odd sense of peace. And smiling when I see all the state abbreviations on recyclable
cans. And swearing. And counting coins. And making a list of the biggest headlines from
every month that I’ve been alive. And drinking more water. And taking my shoes off when I get
home, so I can psychologically tell myself that I’m home and it’s fine and I don’t have to
go anywhere else and that this place isn’t leaving me. And taking my shoes off. And
taking my shoes off. Of course, I’ve tried it. Of course I have.