the egotistic vulgarity of not being enough. creeps.
the boundaries of my brain, hard-lined and angled. revealing static degrees.
my hands only knowing the limits of my mother’s weak nails.
lines of iron deficiencies.
i’ll never be the reasons for your moment that one time you went away. to another place. another air. where i wasn’t. where your curiosity wasn’t strangled. new sidewalks, defining. a blonde breeze of sea. a better-than-texas wind.
or, maybe i was.