((I was feeling anxious earlier this week, so I decided to explore where the physical sensation of anxiety takes me when I try to express it. None of it actually makes sense, ahaha))

November 29, 2017
The egg within my ribcage cracks
Dripping yolk in the hollow of me

I catch it in my hands
Press them together
Let the warmth of my skin create a bird

But my hands are cold with dread
What could have been a bird clings
Strings between my fingers

The shell shards rattle in my chest as I walk.

November 30, 2017
A flower’s made a home of me
Roots, sunk deep
In the keep of my gut
My stomach is a swamp
Sweetly rotting
Too late to admit that
The blossom’s a weed