Old Mornings

I (that indecisive
human female) wake up
(and my eyes refuse to open,
my whole body in mutiny)
every (every single)
morning (sometimes, it's cloudy
and seems like a heavy sunrise) cold
(in a raw and empty place, a breeze
tears through easily and
harshly) and (in so many ways)
alone (as my body sinks into the sheets
due to a heavy heart),
even when you're here.