F. Scott and You.

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F. Scott Fitzgerald speaks

to me through gin and

chandelier music while I

hibernate in the winter

wasteland of my mind.

No longer mourning

the absence of you.

I’m going to fill up

on vitamin D. D for

determination. D for

deadly intent to create.

Let your snow fall.

I’ll wipe the frost

from my eyes.

I’m going to lock the

door. Watch as time

breaks away.

Disconnect for awhile.

Hang out with the bones

in my closet. I have an

uneasy relationship with

the past. I’m tired of the

unrest. I’m going to put

on my red heels, bob my

hair, and reconnect with

the skeletons.

We’ll dance the Charleston

through every room

until I’m dizzy from

spinning, until I am

unghost and unfettered.

The bones shattered.

The windows of my mind

clean once more.

It’s not about what was.

It’s about freedom.

I pour sugar on the

future and swallow time

in the last shot of gin.

If you ask me

about happiness,

I’ll give you my

wounds instead.

Singing the song of

the swan.

I stick a bandaid

on my heart and

run off with the

jazz quartet.

Fitzgerald nods his approve

as we shimmy off into the

golden- on the edge of a

cliff fall night.

-Tosha Michelle

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