You hate that I love the way the skin of red apples crack around my teeth. The noise makes me feel alive. When my teeth taste like flouride, I pray for cotton mouth or a split in my gums. When I get a piece of chicken stuck between my teeth I pick at it with my paper thin nails and butcher the gum between my teeth again and again.

You hate how I leave the dishes in the sink for days, working around them to make a cup of coffee. I can ignore the plates and silverware stacked up to the faucet, but it drives you crazy to see my acrobatic tricks.

You hate that I open cupboards, pantries, draws, and closet doors and never close them. You used to follow my footsteps, slamming doors after me like a poltergiest. You ve stopped tracing my footsteps, but you still slam the doors.

You hate how I pile up my clothes and leave them there for days. Denims and plaids hide paisley upholstery and create color in the corner s shadows. Who knew it would be most convenient when you asked me to leave. Quit crying pack your shit and shut your mouth. Not all of us speak in haiku.