reading room
FIELD GUIDE
my body's a room with every light on. a radio tuned to all stations at once. i'm trying to sit still but my thoughts spin chairs.
in year seven, i learned how to pretend i was listening. nod at the right time, underline the date, draw galaxies on the margins.
i feel my mother's worry in my jaw, my father's restlessness in my knees. some days i dance without music. some days i forget to eat.
i once told a teacher: i couldn't remember what she just said. she frowned like i'd confessed to sin. i swallowed my "sorry" and it rattled for hours.
sometimes, my breath forgets itself.
sometimes, my limbs wander off mid-sentence.
i lose whole hours and still feel late.
i do not know how to say "i'm trying" without hearing it as an excuse. but i try.
today i lie deep down in the grass and allow my thoughts to go wherever they please. the sky doesn't scold me for being everything at once.
— Lilith