poetry
Comment 1

Just Keep Swimming, Swimming Swimming

image

I can’t sleep.
There is a mystery thing
Nested in my foot from rehearsal,
Bare feet on Cesar’s hard floor
Not stopping their dance
To bow to the pain.

I can’t sleep.
There is a piece of wood
Stuck in my hand from when I dusted
The nightstand with a Clorox wipe.
It’s in my middle finger, at the joint,
The part that bends to hold my pen
While I write. I don’t stop
To bow to the pain.

I can’t sleep.
I have paper cuts all over from work and
It hurts where I stabbed myself with
The handle of the exit.
I am my own most dangerous hazard with
Deep scars no one can see through my smile.
I laugh and don’t stop
To bow to the pain.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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