HOW ARE YOU THESE DAYS / I’M DROWNING

Writing as

Savior

my teacher says

Will writing hold me

at night

while my body shakes

and rattles my twin xl

mattress against the railing

Grimy hush

of martyred white noise

from the air purifier

which is supposed to

help me breathe

Me whose default is holding my breath

and must consciously command my chest:

"Breathe!"

The body refuses to play along

Something we have in common

We each refuse to claim the other as

our own

How are you these days?

I'm still drowning

I'm still visiting my parents

My sibling is leaving first

Is it wrong to wish I was the one

grabbing Kentucky Kansas Colorado

like wooden blocks and Legos

flinging them on the floor

sharp side up

When I was little

I wasn't allowed to lock my bedroom door

I locked it anyways

My parents would bust down the door

with an Allen key

The yelling was worse after but

since I would get yelled at anyways

I locked the door

And the

one

two

three

seconds it took them to unlock the door

were all I needed

A body which must move in seconds

is not a body

prone to breathing