psychosis


​You said you were the second woman,


the one at the beginning of the world


who upon creation saw every piece and 
mechanism of her existence

and imploded.

I get that.

Sometimes I can feel my cells dying and being born, Feel my neurons fire,
See the way fat floats
and fascia clings to muscle clings to bone

Sometimes I can hear grass whisper
 and dust falling on the mantelpiece.

 Not as much since I started the meds.
 I miss it sometimes,


and every once in a while a whisper breaks through

Sometimes I can hear strings vibrating, 
feel the 5th dimension curled inside me,


feel my mass warping the fabric of spacetime

Sometimes I think gravity reversed itself
and I am walking on the ceiling searching for the door

I know this isn’t true, just in my head,

but I’m not sure truth matters if you can’t get out of bed.

I get why you wanted to opt out

I know why I wanted to

Sometimes I wonder if you’re still mad at me for stopping you.

Maybe the second woman couldn’t handle 
knowing what she was made of, 
but we have billions of women to learn from.

Maybe 13.7 billion years of creation has hidden in its cracks

a wrench or a hammer for us to use

Maybe when Icarus fell

his dripping wings melted holes in the earth,


caves we can hide in when we’ve seen more than we can handle. 
I want to look for them with you.



I see you in my dreams,


and I see you seeing me,


and I see that second woman


and I want to tell her she’s not alone,

that we’ll find those caves and that hammer.

I don’t know if it’s true, but I want it to be.