Oof. Time to take a photo
of the feeling in my ribs
and study it
long enough
to put the sensation
into sounds that mean things
to the creases in my skull.
Echo this translation,
I feel like crying,
wanna go dancing
violent enough to throttle wind,
I would wish away the night if I could,
I would wish away the way you say,
“you need help
and I can’t help you”
like I’m crazy,
then you’re crying
over how no one cares
about your problems
and I don’t know
if I should help you or not–
get my heart
tangled in knots,
dance away the thoughts,
could we
crop the picture
to focus on the love
in the rain,
could we bundle up the ache
in present boxes
of nostalgia,
I don’t know
why I keep feeling the way I do
or, no, I do,
it’s all
wild in the world
and everybody’s problems
eat me
and I still don’t know how to be honest
about the picture
printing from my mouth
with the evidence
of how you hurt me too.
***
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header photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
Jordyn Saelor 