when you tell me Your Happiness is more important than mine
I make grilled cheeses when I’m feeling down, on days like this one.
Two slices of Provolone, extra butter, and maybe some homemade fries too,
if I’m feeling adventurous.
Yeah, self-help is a joke, but this sandwich is life changing.
I put on mismatched socks, one purple, one blue,
and I rip myself out of bed,
to just exist.
I put on a .99 facemask I bought
two months ago at Walmart,
because a facemask is as good a mask as any that I was planning on wearing today.
I try to play “Island in the Sun” on my ukulele,
and cringe at how embarrassing I am.
I wonder if you’re thinking about me.
I remind myself not to care, then put on that sweatshirt you got at the flea market and walk out of my stale and friendly dorm.
I sit on the grass between our buildings, and fail to draw the sky.
But I still smile, because I like the way my socks are brighter than any Prismacolor pencil.
Monique Byro was born and raised in the too alive city of Miami, and now lives amongst many naturally occurring, all the same color, trees at the University of Florida where she is a full time student. She has been known to keep her poems the same way she keeps her pizzas, to herself.