A hamster wheel my brain
is itching to run laps on. My leg
bouncing on my ankle like a trampoline.
My body disconnecting to hear that–
Crack.
The trail of ink my pen drags, the tapping of my paintbrush on my knee.
“Why is there paint on your jeans, we just bought those!”
I act surprised. As if I didn’t realize the gooshy paint sliding down my jeans.
As if I didn’t love every second of peeling the crisp paint off my denim.
The City High Review 