my nails dig into the earth, fists full of brown soil grind into my skin, on my knees, I scrape again and again, digging for

all the pieces they add up—to desires, deep yearnings of belongings that are not mine to have they hover, slap me with icy fingers, each

I should’ve spoken, it was the time to do it, but in the moment, I couldn’t, didn’t feel I had the right to Who am

What you have is a loud in my face kind of life that can cut, slice my flesh open I still walk, upright, one foot