I am not a graceful person
I am not a sunday morning or
A friday sunset. I am a tuesday
2 a.m. I am gunshots muffled by a
Few city blocks, I am a broken window
During February. My bones crack on
A nightly basis. I fall from elegance with
A dull thud, and I apologize for my
Awkward sadness. I sometimes believe
That I don't belong around people, that I
Belong to all the leaps days that didn't happen.
The way light and darkness mix under my skin
Has become a storm.
You don't see the lightning,
But you hear the
Echoes.