When I Am Empty

Pt. 1                          

When I am empty, the voice that fills my bones and lifts my head curls in my ribcage and goes to sleep.

My throat is gaping, catching the volume of my words so the come out a whisper; eyes half closed and my lips loosening themselves from my facial muscles. The space between my skin and my core housing the swell of something that is almost ocean spray, but more stale than salty.

When I am empty it starts from the tip of my nose that is frozen, moving to my feet that hold themselves to the ground, my shoulders that want to pull me right over at my waist to let my curled fingers hang beside my wobbling ankles with my head hovering in front of my half-assed knees.

Sometimes it starts in the car when that dread of going places lulls me into the place where my head bumps against the seat, a rag doll in my limbs and the tires beneath me matching the tone of the gentle swill inside of me; the ionized mist that tries to escape my skin and keeps my spine standing silent and alone like an skyscraper office on a long weekend.

When I am empty the things that fill me are not big enough to keep themselves from draining through my pores like a salt shaker, and the words do not come easy – are not coming easy. When I am empty my strength that usually feels so heavy has gone on vacation, and in it’s haste to leave it still did not forget any of itself in my finger tips.

When I am empty everything is yes because it takes too much energy to explain a no and I need that resource to stand again, to plug the leaks with sleep.

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Pt.2

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herHABITAT

A creative of all sorts. Do-er. Fierce.

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