foreign objects

I’ve considered

Gutting myself.

Replacing each and every

Pink, smooth, functional part

With tired gears,

Chicken wires

And rusted strainers.

Eliminating some of the pressure

Of my misguided intuition.

Because this world has become a difficult thing to read-

No longer bound with familiar materials

Or printed in texts I’ve been

Trained to understand.

It’s unfortunate that my arms are so tired,

Because I know if I laced my fingers around all of

Your necks,

Your calm, sleeping faces

Would soothe me.

Let me breath a little deeper

And walk with a little less caution.

Novembersixteenthtwothousandandeight