The day is never longer than it is,
but I spend my time curled up on the couch,
in the fetal position
watching re-runs of my favorite tv show.

The day is never longer than it is,
and I argue with myself in the shower:
“Should I shave my legs?
No.
Don’t buy into the demands of our patriarchal society.
Yes.
They’ll feel soooo smooth.”

The day is never longer than it is,
yet I give hours, days, weeks, and months to
flossing between my bloody gums and
eating ice cream out of the carton and
staying up later than I should.

I wish the day were longer than it is
because I need time.
Time to decide who I want to be
and where I want to go
and if my choices will make me happy.