Do you recall the first time that you showed me a piece of that turmoil-
when we stood in grass and waited for the wind to stop,
at borrowed apartments,
with less sleep than I care to admit
I cannot pretend I will fall into the trap again.
My legs have been broken too many times.
The tooth scars still burn when I think too much.
Edifice of broken glass and burnt up blood.
I’ll call their names again and let them have it this time.
feel a sense of not-my-self
that sits beneath my very skin