Cat Collins xo

My brain is like one of those caves they mine talc from for talcum powder. They use talcum powder in eyeshadows and other makeup, baby powder. The slabs they get the talc from have veins of asbestos that are pretty impossible to separate from the talc. Ground down to a fine powder, the bad stuff’s all mixed in with the other stuff.

Or maybe my brain isn’t as hopeless as that. Maybe it’s just like my brain got dropped on a carpet. All the lint and hair and tiniest little fibers are the bad stuff, and I’ve got to pick it all off. Carefully, individually. Once I think I’ve got my brain all cleaned up, I inevitably find a minuscule strand in a fold. Then I’ll notice more pieces of lint stuck, wet, blended in. Sometimes just hearing the news, even on accident, is like dropping my brain back onto the carpet. Sometimes it’s a text from my mother. Fresh pieces of lint to pick off. Some hide in crevices and get to stay inside my brain longer than others. Still, it’s not altogether hopeless. My brain now may be as clean as it’s ever been. So long as it doesn’t slip from my grasp and go rolling, rolling through the dirt and lint again.