there is someone inside my head, reminding me of the sacred
lips, eyelash, one pupil slightly larger than the other,
mesmerized by bite-sized working villages
i will shroud you when i can
i’ve felt the irrefutable joy of knowing where to step
and the cigarette in the eye, the ice and defeat
curled hands around my ears, sobbing
for not knowing myself
who among us has not felt this – or rather –
who among us has felt it but denied the time
to reposition
trusting myself to open the door quietly
grabbing anyone’s hand in the dark
i wake up encased in my own sweat
what am i afraid of
what am i afraid of
what am i afraid of