rupture

On a street corner, I cradle myself
I brace tightly, so that my skin won’t rupture—
pouring out a thousand tears,
a thousand fears.
It’s lively, loud, and lurid,
and all I want to do is scream.

I haven’t felt this scared in such a long time.
I’ve forgotten my innermost demons
and the ache of slipping back into old skins—
like a ghost lost in the interim.

So here, sit in the discomfort.
Here, rediscover resilience.
Here is not where you’d rather be,
but you will sit and simmer.

I want to go home
to me.
Please.

— “It is late. I may need a hug. I wrote this.
I wanted to share it with someone.”
— “It is late, but it’s also early.”