My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel skin on muscle
Muscles that move on bone
But I am not truly present.
My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel hands on skin
Skin that quakes beneath wicked touch
But I am not truly present.
My body isn't mine
Without the tightness in my chest
A tightness that I deeply crave
But I don't know what's real.
This body isn't mine.
I feel a brushing of elbows
Elbows of strangers awakening the memories
But I /don't/ know what's real.
This voice isn't mine.
I speak stories of others
Other things I hope can allude
But none read between the lines.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 2:19 AM UTC
My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel skin on muscle
Muscles that move on bone
But I am not truly present.
My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel hands on skin
Skin that quakes beneath wicked touch
But I am not truly present.
My body isn't mine
Without the tightness in my chest
A tightness that I deeply crave
But I don't know what's real.
This body isn't mine.
I feel a brushing of elbows
Elbows of strangers awakening the memories
But I /don't/ know what's real.
This voice isn't mine.
I speak stories of others
Other things I hope can allude
But none read between the lines.
Written in October of 2019
