Once Upon a Time There Was a Lesbian Bar on Sepulveda

Twenty-Six years and I still could not sleep through the night.

I was standing when I should have been floating;

I was still when I should have been writhing;

I laughed when all I wanted to do was cry.

So I walked and ran and walked and ran the two miles from Charlene’s;

Dry cold inhaled air burned my nostrils as I stumbled       “home.”

My strides felt heavy, I was weighed down by “pretend.”

Zig-zagging through the silence of 2 am;

I kept squinting up at the street lights that were wizzing and spinning

Bye. My blurry lens obstructed my view from the truth.

The cyclical thought, “How was I not somewhere

Else on this road?” bellowed in my mind.

I wept as I looked down on myself from above: “She always wanted to die.”

The morning light caused my eyes to flutter open from the curtain-less windows.

Surrendered, I took in the white popcorn ceiling staring down back at me.

My throat dry as cotton,

My tongue sour from last night’s vomit.

“I don’t feel free—and why am I wearing this strange orange sweater?”