The pathways in my brain are blocked by teeny tiny triggers
Like men with beards and small eyes and glasses
Like men who play badminton
And the guitar
And tell erroneous stories and use words wrong
Leaving me far too ignitable and excitable
While also malleable and unmoveable
At sudden and unexpected times.
I think of my body as able
I think of my legs, which are run-able
My feet with toes that are extendable
My arms, which are liftable
My hands, which are flexible
My back, which is bendable
My brain and my spine as connectable.
My body looks available
Especially when I’m clad in
Headbands and hats and earrings from 1982.
Last night I wore a red blazer
Over top of a cut-up I heart New York black tank
I tied a neon green head band around my head,
making visible the excess strands of ribbon,
A silk-like crescendo down my chest.
I wore jeans with holes created over time—
None of that mass-markets vintage-like bullshit.
I wore my brown leather shoes I got at a second-hand store.
I painted my nails pink.
I wore this ring.
And let me tell you about this ring
I bought for fifteen dollars
At the campus bookstore—
The shape of it reminds me of tree roots
Extending deeper and deeper into the ground
Connecting with new roots
From other trees,
I trace my fingers across the ridges of the ring, breathing in and breathing out.
I ask myself, what feeds me?
When I’m frozen with anxiety,
When I’m driving down the road.
He is everywhere in the corner of eyes—
All of the time.