my tiredness

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is dividing the number zero is a
forgotten cigarette in between two slabs of sidewalk is a
depressed piece of cotton in the bottom of your
medicine drawer is the
fog on mornings when my mother hasn’t read where the wild things are to me is a
fishing boat with cracks in the fiberglass is
our bleary-eyed round-table exercise in creative writing (october 3rd 2017)


We went around and talked shared tiredness in metaphors. Some metaphors were poignant, others contradictory (“My tiredness is the sun that warms you”). The girl next to me described her tiredness like an unrelenting wind and it seemed angry, and the girl across from me, who said the story-less fog one, seemed sad. So many forms of tiredness, all stewing in our slow misshapen circle.

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