I am not present.
I don’t know where I am, but I am not here. I haven’t been here all week. I try; I speak; I feel. I dribble. Here it is. There is my hope, my fear, my thought process. I bleed out in the smallest words and the simplest of phrases.
Can you be so delicate? You fine petal; you delicate fucking flower.
There I am. There’s a little bit. It helps me feel more solid. I re-establish some presence. But where do I go in the meantime? I reach out; I pull back. I try to show myself in you. Not to lose myself… Tell me what you know; show me a home; say that you see the blood. I don’t know.
I’m getting sick again. Yet another threat to my equilibrium. Always I’m fighting something. My mind is hazy. My body plays two parts–let’s think and let’s fight. I’m distracted by the science of it. How can I sleep and sweat and ingest all while doing these other things. All while thinking and talking and helping and hoping and bleeding and asking.
What’s a steady course I can chart? Where is my North Star? My alpha and beta: my llama eyes.
I am impulsive to be set free.