A Home
A body built on nerves and signals.
So many little paper airplanes,
they fly from head to toe.
Expect when they get stuck in my hands and rattle.
Uncontrollable.
Flex and refocus,
they are gentle;
fragile.
They understand me
they want to be stronger, longer
a creative ache, I think.
My knees are weak,
they beg for sleep
but they are the screws and glue holding me still.
I’m sorry for what I put you through.
My feet are frustrated,
determined,
drained.
They train and train and train and train.
Surpassed their expectations,
healed without proper medication.
Yes they crave validation,
is that at the expense of ankle breaking discipline and dedication?
My hair
what a love hate engagement.
Every rope like curl, rips at my skull
it's gentle warmth drowns everyone out
and I can hide inside its walls.
It's safe.
As of now,
I've learned to listen to the aeroplanes;
I've learned to trust their sounds .
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