Lent
damali abrams

in a delirium of pms

and caffeine withdrawal

the answers seem even less clear

maybe this is my punishment for

giving up Jesus

for lent 

my throat tightens

with over-inspiration as

he walks through the door wearing

the nervous expression i

contort to hold in, forgetting for a moment

that prevention of frown lines starts now

my shoulders grasp the words

that threaten to expose me 

he leaves neglected,

but still calls later 

curled in fetal agony,

i swallow my last

prescription cramp-killers,

praying it can fill that hole in

my personality 

spring smirks through my

window too early the next morning,

my body aching with

every question, every compliment

with the language of him i

cannot speak