A Message Found on a Bathroom Wall

A poem about living an uninspected, angry, lonely life

I’m perfectly fine without her; in fact
I’ve existed for years without anyone and
came out well-adjusted; when I cut my fingers
I can squeeze the laceration to clot the bleeding
and sometimes I can’t sleep at night but everybody
has sleeping problems once or twice and sure I might
be slow to love and avoid puddles on the street and I didn’t
pay that homeless guy because I assumed he’d buy liquor but
I still mostly believe in the good in some people from a distance
And sometimes I swallow anger like a hot stone in my throat
and it boils my insides until they’re curled and black
but who hasn’t repressed some pill-bitter memory
or closed their eyes during the kissing scenes
in movies or stepped on a dandelion
just because it made them feel
a rush of godly power
coursing through
obstructed
veins?