dear mom,

that space between where the window doesn't quite meet the sill
in the living room
won't stop
i've tried everything
a hundred and twelve pounds of pressure
that gap mocks me
when i sleep
even when i'm not at home
i'm convinced it's sucking out my sanity
nothing fits right
the doors won't close
missing coat pocket
the gargantuan coffee mugs
i've started sleeping under my bed
and holding my breath
as if this life were something lived
under water
and i'm so, so, so, tired of moving.

love,

imogen