i can pick feather scraps
off the cover
for indefinite amounts of time,
irritated by the way
they fleck the navy blue,
the way they make
the bed look dirty.

i got blinds today,
i
can write with the light on
and not feel like strangers
are staring in
through my windows at night.

i can
stop being so self-conscious
when i'm alone.
at least about
the things people can see.

there's no hiding
from myself
the self-
conscious irritation
of all my inner
inconsistencies.

all the featherbits
i nitpick on the
inside.