fragment.

everything is blurring and whirring. manythoughtscrowdaroundmyears. I

am

looking

for

a

little

bit

of

space.

to

breathe.

to

think.

to o r g a n i z e.

it is the hardest thing to look you in the eyes.

a new kind of pain,

a novelty of effort,

just,

to look you in the eyes.

because,

ifeelsoworthless.like,ishouldbethrownoutwiththetrash.ormadeinvisible.orturnedtonothing.

i look.

again and again.

i look.

i try.

there are razorblades in my legs

sawing sideways. heavy weights and pain

and nothing

nothing

n o t h i n g

frommybellyup.

hold the bones in this arm

and let me remember how to feel who i am.

it is a long walk home.

there is a slippery stardust, the stuff that keeps the planets apart,

sliding along my bones.

there is a scream

that orbits inside the chaos. everythingisthisscream.

muscles hug tight the skeleton, more and more. bound. bound. bound.

tighter and tighter until they squeeze inside the marrow.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

my leftleg aches with awakening, threaded across my right arm. do you remember the plastic molds at buschgardens? the quarter for the press and hot synthetic smell and the wait, wait, wait for a green rhinoceros?

i do. i am . i am. i am. that.

i see your faces on this sunny day. in this happy family moment. i smell the plastic animals. i feel the concrete ground. the blue sky. the sun. your smiles, fading. fading. fading.

i am going into my bones.

screaming.

and i am shattering.

splitting shards of sharp, shamed glass stretch like dandelions into the sky.

spreading like sunshine spilled on a black, moonless night.

go further. go further. go further.

pull the edges of space and let all that is left collapse at the center.

let there be nothing left of this.

go further. go further.

i do not want to come back.

but they do. the edges of a wound find their way home to each other and busy themselves with the repair. gravity pulls us back to try again.

we need to feel the pain. we must tend to the swelling and heat. we must blaze with the injury.

we must. we must. we must scar.

at my best attempt, i stood in the middle of the centrifuge and unfurled a rage to keep myself blown apart.

yet, the pieces pulsed back to me.

the me at the midline of it all, who stood and watched, fearlessly.

the pieces pulsed back to me like leaves drifted on the shifts of a whirlpool, carrying themselves back to the tributaries, resting once more in the swing of an easier current.

now, the old pain rings the bell.

and i rock from heel to heel,

forward and back.

letting the parts assemble, gather and sew.

returning. returning. returning.