sadness always hits me 
like a screen door
with broken springs 
all at once 
and I hold myself together 
ands its not quiet 
or beautiful 
it is like cleaning up paint 
with a toothpick 
and bystanders watch 
as I try and try again 
to put it all back in the bucket 
and I am somewhere between laughing 
and crying 
because I am cleaning up paint 
with a toothpick 
and its not working.
and I am thinking 
about the moments between seconds 
and I am thinking
about the green cast I had on my wrist 
and I am thinking 
about paint stained carpet 
and I am thinking 
about how much I look like my mother 
when I wear red lipstick 
and thats why I never do 
and I am filled with apologies 
and pleas for stain remover 
or a mop 
or a new carpet 
and I am thinking about Shakespeare 
and Van Gogh 
and Paris 
and Magnesium 
and then tripping and knocking 
the paint can over 
and I am holding myself together 
and it is messy