Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

From Hesitation Confusion Blooms

i pressed my eyelids into the void seeking something bright
but my heart pushes back, as if to avoid the possibility of a fight
the touch of fingertips, pressing, warm like light
to hold down the threads of my seams so my dream wouldn’t
unravel or become worthless like gravel run over in someone’s
front yard – i walk forward, feeling dread, like
opening up my head and shaking it out, spilling marbles
and pennies for thoughts from a jar
on to the floor for people to step on and step on and step on –
it was like undressing in a cold public room,
exposing it all in front of mirrors and under strange lighting
a gloomy, eerie feeling feels like chilled ink in my palms
detached from my form, was i human what is that at all?
the touch of fingertips to my lips, guessing
contemplating, what should be left unsaid about all
the stuff rumbling and rolling around inside my aching head’s walls

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