Slow Burn

I stare myself down in the mirror. Putting on my dress was a struggle and a half. Moving my arm and shoulder outside of the sling stings. Considering how much I did while it was broken, I thought I’d be more capable. Guess that’s what fear can do. I push my good arm down the front of the dress flattening the wrinkles that aren’t there. My black converse look up at me in their old, dirty glory.