Goodnight

Even though I am alone
I still remove my bra like a
shy sixth grader at summer camp,
afraid of an errant nipple exposed to fellow bunkmates.
I arch back and under my shirt to remove the hook
before pulling the straps down and out each arm like a
straight jacket escape in dress rehearsal.
I reach up the front of my shirt and
pull it down in one dramatic swoop,
feeling the weightlessness of breath in my exhale.
Stretch my shoulders back just to
remind myself what skin feels like.

I never like brushing my teeth.

About once a week, I don’t do it on purpose.
I will be out and the night will be winding down
and I will think “I’m not going to brush tonight.”
I am the fucking boss.

The clothes for sleeping are tucked behind my pillow
and change weekly with the sheets.
Lately they include socks which are inevitably
kicked off in the night
but feel so amazing in those moments before slumber,
when I rub my feet together and up my leg
to the beat of to-do lists and a day replayed.

I have rituals to calm my brain.
Sometimes I have a little conversation with god.
Sometimes I masturbate.
But I always think about the things I am grateful for-
the things that propelled me into
happiness or thought or uncomfortable feelings
or fullness or awareness in my waking moments.

Then I lean over
Rearrange the pillows so they arch
in that memorized way
Curl up my body into a ball with my blankets
or a partner
or the bear gifted to me at birth.

My lungs grow fat with that last vocal sigh-
I am ready to leave the world behind for a few hours.