SANITY

July 2020

​

I want to melt into 

the cracks of some 

linoleum floor, 

like the viscous consequence

of a chemistry experiment

gone wrong. 

I want to listen,

no more than a stain 

on the tiles, 

to the gossip that floats 

like sticky mist

through the halls of my

high school and romanticize

pretending not to notice

when people stare. 

I’d turn away from their

wide eyes and conspicuous 

whispers — did you know

I crave to hear those whispers?

how lonely it must make me

to dread they don’t whisper 

anything at all.