FOX-HYDE
11.2.20
what if i told you this texture of “composed”, is held together from the blood in our gums?
we’re all holding our lungs today, i can’t tell if i’m scared out breath will come screaming or clock-tickin. So we smoke them in, all in. make them shallower, more spaced apart adding less seconds to the anxious abacus.
of course we have to breath.
we’re fucking human — we find excuses to pant and gasp each breath with strained muscles and blood movement.
me? i’m dancing, feet moving for the touch we’ve missed, synchronizations lost, culture set on shelf collecting dust for “soon”, “someday”, “maybe 2021”. I’m bearing my teeth at the whitest white i can see in you, the college degree, extracurricular activities, sports matches, privatization, opportunity, law school.
when i move; i pin down scholarships ripped from my fingers, jobs i can’t apply for, identities built from nicknames i never wanted, chemicals on brown skin bleaching their blood dead. i pin down guilt and cigarette butts accidentally flying out the car window. cow fiber in my molars, 2,240,000 acres in the amazon gone. i pin down the breath i take for granted, the one absent from 50.6 million people worldwide. i pin down the fear of whatever you see in me. don’t look to close.