So many techniques for living
better. Breathe in and out,
six counts each. Somebody liked
my imperfect teeth. I told him
don’t like them. I’m supposed to
say thank you. If I breathe
right, my pain will walk
away. If I speak correctly,
my pain will vacation
and die while drinking
Chianti. I always want
to tear myself out
of myself. I always want
instructions and ignore all
instructions. For instance,
I told myself not to talk
to you in this poem.
I told myself not to
blame you for everything.
You made me breathe
wrong. I want to breathe
the way people say.
I want to speak
the way people breathe.
I want my pain
to vacation in your perfect
red teeth. I hate “myself,”
embarrassing lie, as if
I belong to me.
Better Living by Jennifer Wortman | Sandalwood & Rose Poetry Reed Diffuser
Jennifer Wortman is the author of the story collection This. This. This. Is. Love. Love. Love. She lives with her family in Colorado, where she teaches writing and dance fitness and edits fiction for Colorado Review. Find more at jenniferwortman.com.
