I believe you.
the fear of your gods
making claws of their fingernails,
I believe in you.
you tried to hide inside yourself,
but springtime came too early,
and you found yourself growing
in ways you never wanted.
I believe for you
because somebody somewhere wants to know about -you-, kid
and maybe you’re too broken
for the mazes of compliance
but you’re not too broken for the rushing spitting guts of this city,
the world with us inside,
and your knuckles, and our sidewalks,
and your swinging feet.
in the wee hours of the night,
the world unravels just a bit.
is that enough? if you stay here,
you will be unmade.
you pour yourself like stars into a bucket, waiting for a hand to touch your shoulder.
your seams are already loosening
and your fear is as transcendent
as it is mundane.
check the anchoring of your teeth.
check your pulse and check again
feeling the nauseous twisting of your insides
just your pinfeathers falling out
as children tussle, rolling around
and around in the snow.
even that skin you keep a secret
beneath your fingernails
is not safe, is dissolving,
is another clench of damage
waiting to be born.
can their clever desperations find you? do you dream of keeping safe,
burrowing beneath the earth to find the tunnels made by earthworms,
dark and cool
where they can’t get you
it’s not soft, here
but you can keep them far away.
that swinging of our feet might be enough
til you believe