“The world will ask you who you are, and if you don’t know, the world will tell you.”
Thinking about you is violent.
It’s never just hips.
It’s hips crashing like helmet-less bicycle wrecks,
head over handlebars,
hands all scraped up.
Nails full of dirt and spit and you.
Even your voice is this jarring thing,
this pleasant shake-down,
this sore so good, so goddamn good.
Like a bad-tooth hurt.
I think of you and want to put my fingers
in my mouth.
I want to pull my own hair.
I want smoke and blood.
Trista Mateer
Am I lonely?
Sure. Like anybody
who has sat by themselves during
their hardest moments is.
The feeling of being completely
alone does not leave you-
even when you’re assured that
you have people to rely on.
I am trying to learn my Lonely.
I foster it. So that it does not
eat me up. It is a piece of me that
has never
strayed.
You Don’t Unlearn It Immediately, Lora Mathis
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.
Warsan Shire