i.

i.

A Poem by Brigid Cooley 

i think in the terms of poetry rhymes and nursery stanzas. 

Someone once told me that i had it backwards;

i responded, "Now you finally understand." 

i like stringing together nothing's in an attempt to formulate something's,

and sometimes

vice 

 versa. 

It is hard to be a keeper of words. 

secretly, i hate my voice, 

but every night i sing myself a lullaby.

It's difficult to sing when you want to cry but i do it anyways. 

Because, if i didn't sing for me then who would?

Red lipstick makes me feel pretty. 

Once i realized that raindrops were really just tears falling from angel eyes, 

somehow, that was enough for me.

If i had a dime for every time i really let myself go, 

i'd have exactly forty-five cents.

Someone save our sincerity.

i won't make change for a dollar.

He taught me that Levi's have pockets full of metaphors.

i've never had a reason to smoke before,

but now i puff smoke signals into the atmosphere.

"Now you finally understand."

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