Assessorizing over top of trauma

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,

Sharing water

And nutrition.

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.

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