black pearls

I lied about being patient. I’m not patient anymore. Now that I’m at work I’m rocking in my chair with my witch pearl earrings on, black pearls that were a gift because I’m not all white inside. They’re the beautiful adopted daughter pearls, a bruised finger nail, a pebble pen spot that keeps bleeding onto my hand after each morning when I’m up before dawn except now that the time has changed I’m up with the dawn just minutes before it. It’s that spot by the window that I think of during the day that tells me I’m not done. that it’s not finished.

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