i so often find myself
looking for a home
in men, in work, in
menial activities, in
angry runs where
I lose so much
breath my
lungs feel
like they
are

bleeding.

but I find solace in books,
page 3, page 10, 56, 145,
230, I don't ever want
to lose myself, i imagine
it's a sign of weakness,
or the inability to deal
with reality but the peace
is so alarming, it makes me
want to cry.