Not a Burden

The middle finger meets the notch inside my thumb, squeeze tighter, maybe it’ll shrink. Trying to push up inside of my skeleton, closing my eyes I try to pull out my chest. This feels inhuman, like she’s someone else. She’s looking back at me, but she can’t register my form. Count from one to sixty, it should take longer. Someone wraps your fingers under the protrusion on my shoulder, shake me and tell me you noticed. After hours of this standoff, this plasticine mold of me is like a faceless mannequin I wanna give a name. Kissing bathroom walls is an occupation I’m waiting for the badge on my stomach to rise from the dead. I’m never less alone than when alone.