solstace, untitled

I have one notch in my headboard
for every time I could define what "normal" was
and felt that way
and conquered it
And saw myself in the silhouette of the hatred of it.
The pollen finally turned on me this year, like I knew it would.
My lungs are more tired than my legs
but I respond well to promises
And every breath is two of those:
One on the inhale, another on the ex.