Some Days (or Tabula Rasa)

Some days
I want to smooth it all out,

Ground myself into untouched flour
or virgin snow,
Stretch my body across a canvas
until I am formless,
A rightly scorned mess

Some days
I am smooth and untouched,
Untouchable,
Cold as a distant star
and shatterproof

But some days
I am too rough for time,
Do not bend into its grooves
Or surpass the old rhyme.

Some days
I am more night
Than day,
More likely to say
What I don’t mean
But felt was right
At the time

And some days
There is light on my
Windowsill,
Light with my pillow
Propped up,
Right there
Touching my cheek

But some days
Some days

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