by K. Joy Wood

Tiles upon the floor, not mirrors,
Yet I know something lies in wait for me
I can’t feel right now, don’t ask me to
Emotion, anyway, is a culmination
Of our own inner ... and that which
Others put upon us

Not equations within a chemist’s lab
Wherein answers are equal to the solubility of Y

My body bunches up
My throat constricts
I know what I should say

But ‘shoulds’ are for the living dead

Instead I’ll say I wasn’t there
I am not there

I can’t promise I ever will be there

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