Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

the center of me, i and i

sometimes i wish i could take anxiety,
fold it up and tuck it away … but it’s not like other
blankets that keep me warm on a cold day
it’s more like a quilt, stitched clumsily at the seams
where painful reality meets wistful dreams
that stream, pulse, move, prod
over and over in my mind …
sometimes i wish i could snap the blanket back
to give sunlight a chance to find a spot to sleep
where shadows used to keep me wrapped up, unseeing
in the shadows, that would grow and never let me
go, holding their grip, as the alarm clock
continues to bellow and glow that weak blood red
blinking tiny numbers against my face
reminding me i’m caught within the wheel of
time, a dead cog in a place i feel foreign to, i see my hands
but feel the existence is rubber, or floating air –
disconnecting, dissociating from the i within me
and the i, i project out there, that loses its sharpness
when people walk in between the light and the wall
where i try to share the parts of me i think are almost good
that are almost worth letting out there at all

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: center

5 Responses to “the center of me, i and i”

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