i may be a mess--i peeled off every price tag clinging desperately to the backs of my tattered bedside-guilty-pleasures tonight. i pulled every shirt i own off the color-coordinated plastic hangers in my closet and threw them in heaps on the coffee-stained living room rug, right in the middle. i piled dirty dishes in the sink and ate ice cream on the couch and let my spoon drip, drip, drip all over the polished wood floors, and i laughed.i may be a mess--3 years ago in Short Stories
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i was always tidy with you. i cared so much about presenting my world in a way you could understand that i forgot to clean up the mess in me. maybe i was afraid that you couldn't handle my inner stains, spills, rips, tears, and worn, fading labels. i guess i was right, because when i finally let you in on the secret, your bottles of scented cleaner couldn't change me.
i splattered green paint on the carefully picked out yellow walls, and when it dripped down in ugly little waves i smiled and drew faces across the hall with my thumb. i made sixty three origami turtles