I don't feel like a role model when I am sitting in my room,
cast in $5 Walgreens string lights with four roommates
thinking about how this used to be around the time of night my eyes searched for the razor in my bathroom mirror
about tainting milky sinks
because I am just so far from perfect
and I am just so compelled to make a mess out of everything I see.
I wonder when I can stop calling the pill bottle my steady course of antibiotics so I would stop being shamed for having a mind that's programmed to hit dead ends,
not bearing the ability to reconfigure at the premise of another's encouraging words.
I thought the woman in the new york times was supposed to have more dignity than this -
as if telling myself it'll all be okay someday will make it come true,
that I might start to grow
and not just break and repair.
If I am still so young,
then why do I feel the impending doom of time running out?
The hardest part of being a strong woman is that no one ever offers to help you -
that infinite harbinger
in the waiting room.