My legs are nailed to the ground.
The blood gushes out—
but it doesn’t hurt as much.

I watch you all do great things,
buy pretty silks,
while I sit here and marinate.

Guilt, laziness, and loneliness
coat me well.
Every crevice of my being
feels heavy and aimless.

I'll laugh at it all,
give advice to my babies,
criticize those working hard
while I spend the day staring.

Pause is now my friend.

I need to move.
I need to run.
I need to fall.
I need to change.

I'm either

Grounded
Or burried
Or floating

And the world is either

Unmoving
Or too fast
Or too slow

It either
Ignores
Suffocates
Or points its finger

And I feel either

Nothing
Or too much
Or numb

Can't get this page to fill
This pen is bleeding white noise

Creators are made off their failures
And achy finger joints

I'm digging untill my back breaks
Silence I won't accept

I promise
Next time I'll feel the words
I'll write
If they return

Before her, I was
South-facing as a loose tooth plucked from sore gums.

There is a affinity shared with her
In this gloomy hair, like graphite
Fingerprints anointed on my featureless cranium; and how

Before me, she was
Broken as the noon's fever. Her boyish hips fanning out,
Abdicating space for my anemone palms
To measure their wingspan.

Jellylike expectancy
Suspends us in a flood of adrenaline.