Water, in 9 Acts

I. Water is holy. Water is cyclical.

It swirls like this cluster headache at the front of my skull.

II. I'm blowing bubbles

in this standing shower

curled at the drain like a wet strand of hair.

I'm blowing bubbles

but my Old Spice odor-eliminating $12 body gel makes poor bubbles. I stand up.

III. I hope for a moment that I'm fainting.

My head aches again.

Too tired to put on lotion

or brush my teeth.

I brush my hair, put on pajamas (only

on the lower half of my body

-the rest is in too much pain)

and sit.

IV. I sit.

V. I am swirling like water.

I am listless, aimless.

I am an imposter.

I am a loser.

I am gifted. "Gifted". GIFTED. GIFTED.

G I F T E D.

VI. I am fake.

VII. My head hurts.

The dollar store razor I used to shave my legs for the third time today has left a rash

like picked beets or

spiky starfish

all down my legs.

I am fake.

VIII. I am caught between "should" and "can't". I am constant. I do not rest. I lie down. I regress.

IX. I am 11 years old.

I blow bubbles alone in my bathtub.

I would never admit this to anyone.

My favorite movie is playing on TV downstairs.

If I'm good, I'll get to watch the end of it.