We have all these explosions under our skin, and they just sort of happen as we walk around and we run to bathrooms and push them balk up into our noses, and slap our own wrists. We practice the robot in the mirror and laugh. Hey James you are pretty funny. Look at me I am doing the robot. I say…ha ha.
But when I am asleep and you dig down into my shoulders you peel back the layers that I keep from you.
“my shoulder is always hurting, do you have some Motrin?”
“my eyes always dry”
So I am all fucking fucking up.
And they come. In the night, all the things I ask for. Like these little elves air chrylsalis. Little people working on my knots telling me it is going to be alright, setting me straight and letting me know.
It is what it is.
Propping me up over and over again.