I've crawled inside myself 'til Spring
I can feel myself slipping and receding, and I haven't bothered to ask why. Everyone assumes the ocean and the moon are lovers, just as everyone assumes the only two Muslim boys in class must be best friends, just as no one asks "Are you okay?" if you keep quiet and occasionally smile at an off-color joke. I find myself wanting to smash vases and neglect obligations. I'm tired of hearing about love and perfection and failed expectations. I snap my little claws at songs and trucks and mathematics and the grinding of teeth and remain unsatisfied. Everytime I start to confess frustrations, I clamp a hand over my mouth and stare blankly 'til I'm numb. Things are yawning up at me and I 'm shaking and the serenity I used to find sometimes in suns and squirrels and lovers' eyes is gone. No no no more questions; arms, I need arms.