march morning

why did i feel that i was not enough

that the moment i woke up there was all this body that has to be done

that i was a worship waiting to be made

that i was a meal meagered by the kitchen window

there were moments i went for walks

that seemed the most sensible thing

to move

to please the body

to make it sound

like a voice unrolling into a river


do not autocorrect me

do not take my voice and clean it up

i want it to be there as it is

spoken with lines in between

fissures

gaps in my teeth and red pink mouth flapping all the gorge and length it can muster


but there is the body again

hoping it won’t turn inside out

with all that it is turning into out