A Diagnosis
Dysregulated
I am outline
This pressure-out is nearly as big as my skin
There is no room for sympathy between.
I am the aura
And not the core
I am a translucent edge
As seen with scam X-ray glasses from a comic book ad
I live here, in this outer red shift
Forced radial by energy felt as mass
She cannot regulate her emotions
(said some sleek doctor)
Her nerves are too close to the surface
(said my grandmother, who was a psychiatric nurse)
My nerves are a spring-steel coil
Snapping restraints in an urgent leap for circumference
I am trying to tell you, all you real people,
That my skin is strung over this moment right now
Over motion more resistant than matter
And I envy you your fine and personal skeletons.
Read MoreI’d like to say a few words.
What’s your favorite word?
I don’t much care about rare and fancy words, unless they offer a precision I can’t find elsewhere. I’m not charmed by adorable collective nouns, either. I like descriptive words that seem like onomatopoeia, like slither and glimmer, that invoke an instant image or emotional response, words whose sounds and shapes on the page seem united with their meaning.
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