I watch my world through a glass.

words begin to tumble
slow as the snowflakes
that land on my nose
so that I can blame my red complexion
on the cold.

The shallow drowned lose less than we.

I.
sometimes the flames tickle
the soles of my feet – the follicles in my skin jump
like fish out of water to find the sun
because the calm dark deep called home
is a prison where I lay on the stretching table.

II.
grade teacher said to always capitalize “I”
because I’m special and worthy of respect.
but the more my Inner-demons stretch my lImbs
the less InclIned…
i am to believe her.

III.
try to breathe on the city docks –
the waves carry the sounds of screams
from home to my emancipated ears.

That ship left and I wasn't on her...

(all of this)
I've thought of her ever since
(tears in the rain)
because that's how the brain works
(all of this)
and she probably thinks of me
(a breath in the wind)
like a breakfast cereal
(all of this)
that she never had
(peace in the protest)
but heard good things about