I have never hated
myself more than when

my traitorous heart
raced, when my lungs drew
gasping, shallow breaths that dried
my mouth and made me
feel like I was choking on
the taste of ****** metal, when

I allowed my shoulders
to heave, when I allowed
myself to tremble, when

I couldn't stop my head
from twitching slightly
to the right before
jerking back into place (again,
and again, and
again), when

all you needed
was a pair of arms to hold
you against a steady heartbeat,
the rhythm of calm
breath against which you
could time your own, and
someone else to be
the most okay person in the room.