THERE

I am too easily overcome. This soul
is inclined to aching, my constitution
worlds away from tenderness. When I try
to envision relief it arrives in phantoms
of something not yet known to me—
a mental picture of a place I’ve never been.
Imagine it with me, for only a moment,
won’t you dare? Reach out, touch it,
feel the fabric between your fingers—

there. I am not being torn at the seams,
there—the stitching holds, the core
within never spills. There is a world
in which I do not wait for the wounds
to stop weeping. It is a world in which
the wounds were never born to begin
with. There— my knees do not think
of hitting the floor. Nothing falls
from my eyes. I am only weak

from dreaming easy dreams—

the only trace of weakness I know.

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