I mopped the floors last night, honeysuckle, screaming
to myself or the moon, “BITCH I’M A DOMESTIC QUEEN
FUCKING BLESS ME,” and I decide that my apartment
is cute enough to rent on AirBnB and every room looks cozier
when I picture someone else inside of it. I saw a mouth
yesterday that reminded me of Jake. Abusive, manipulative
Jake but I swear the way his lower teeth crowd together, huddled
around the firepit of his tongue, that right there must be god.


The sun is setting now, every plant’s tendril chasing
the window’s last light. I’m burning sage as if I have the power
to create my own goodness. My therapist said, “Are you sure
you’re not the child of an alcoholic? You sound just like
the child of an alcoholic.” What she means is: Why are you
trying to take care of everyone but yourself? And I laugh,
praise the ridiculous bounty that exists in finding that my hurt
is not uniquely mine.


Before falling asleep, legs tangled, Gerson and I watch a video
of a protein carrying endorphins to the brain. Reddit says
the video is a hoax but I can’t stop thinking of the belabored
pilgrimage of my brain’s own arthritised proteins.
Unaccustomed to praying, I throw a silent thank you, in case
depression may be mistaken for a lack of gratitude.

Elena Oriana Blum Coronado-Jensen is a cancer sun, virgo moon, & sagittarius rising. Growing up primarily in Indiana, Elena first started performing her poetry at age 13. A lover of instagram, plants, coffee, hygge, yelling about feelings, oversized earrings, & pink hair, Elena is trying to become the dreams of her teenage self.