Smooth is a Bad Day

Smooth is a bad day.

Yeah, smooth sounds cute.

But honestly? She's a nightmare.

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Smooth is that pale light slipping through Wal-Mart curtains.

And my finger on the bubbling screen protector of my phone.

The slide of my eyes over bright white video.

-

Smooth is the warm red river seeping into cotton and lace.

And cramps curling into the dimples on my back.

The slick in my greasy ponytail hair.

-

Smooth is the cool side of my other six Big Lots pillows.

And my tongue peeling over chapped lips that haven't spoken.

The gulp of Zoloft through small town tower water.

-

Smooth is the forced grace that pulls me out of weighted blankets.

And the chuff of my feet on dusty laminate floor panels.

The sloping foundation of this broken house.

-

Smooth is that saliva on my boyfriend's tongue crashing into my teeth.

And the smoke he pulled from a bougie lounge cigar.

The curl of his fingers into my skin.

-

Smooth is those hours that pass like dreams.

And déjà vu brain waves over lunch.

Time's partner in crime.

-

This poem was written in response to the Smooth challenge issued by Vocal: "Write a poem about something smooth."