Me And You

On Wednesday, I couldn’t move my tongue. By Friday, my body was cardboard. It’s a progressive disease. It’s also built from thoughts. Positivity overlaps with negativity to procreate. Confusion is born.

When I sleep on my left side, instead of my stomach easing, acid comes back up. On my right, I lose feeling in my legs. I hum because a friend said it’ll soothe me. I don’t take medication because the doctor said I need to.

People down the street are ahead of me by just walking. They’re hunters. They hunt for food. Hunt for a promotion. Hunt to be the best at something they don’t even believe in. I’m guarded here in my room. But I’m not safe.

I have me. Self-love. I also have me. Self-hatred. We snuggle and fight. We absorb each other and laugh sometimes. When I surrender a sacred part of myself, my walls become sturdier. I’ll still barely open.

Melodies make my fingers sway. I’m thinking of you when this finger reaches my lips. And this one reaches my clavicle. Each one intertwines with y…