I did not mean to write about it,
only that I had to write about it,
only that the memory resurfaced, ugly.
Say that we are living in a world where
I am tangible– believe this– that
I am tangible. I should not be,
I do not know how
to contextualize myself in a sea of pain.
I do not know how to write it in a way that
says nothing, begets nothing, is intangible.
There is a world where I am touched
and it is this one. There is a world where
I am drowning in touch, where I am
screaming, touched.
Where I am diving under the water
of my own volition– less so–
but still–
originally posted with neon origami, issue 4
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