2.19.2021

the day before the shortest of 2020

i tried to plant my feet on the ground today.
they are now an inch closer—
still not touching

i dream about the day where they 
touch down and the Earth reverberates.
that day i won't care if Dana 
says I was a shut-in at college.
or if i ate too much of my 
father's birthday cake.
i won't try to rush the hard stuff.

but for now, i'll pick at my splinters
and burn my tongue with hot soup 
rushing for it all to be over 
waiting for my hands to wrinkle
waiting for my brain to forget my name
and unlearn my pains.
hurrying to unravel and explode into 
stardust so that my atoms
can return to the inorganic material
they were destined to be. 

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