Routine

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Each morning,
when I wake up,
there is one question.

I get ready for work;
asking in the shower,
while getting dressed,
when driving and putting on mascara.

Every spare moment -
and too many not-so-spare -
I try to answer
with a conclusion more positive
than all the ones before it.

I leave work
still picking at this puzzle
of you,
and the laws of attraction,
and how rigid they are.

Everywhere I go,
I file at the bars
that keep me separated
from normal.

Washing my face -
I examine its fullness
and blandness,
like a dull moon.

It's not hard
to see why
you don't care.

And crawling into bed,
alone,
the question remains:

Could I ever change...
...enough for you
to change your mind about me?