Faster / Brave

There is a camera tracking my every move— not in a daunting or malicious manner, a gift of purpose, the gift of matter. Watch me fold this paper and think of the lens which captures it. Do not be afraid— focus your senses on the movement of my pen. It is an ice skater behind bars— hands glued to iron and feet bruised and bloody. Ah, here the cold sets in. Watch now as my mind skips through puddles of wanting— hands moving faster now— heart moving faster now— faster now.

/

There are tears in my eyes from the words you chant but I’m being very brave about it. My cervix feels like it’s on the brink of explosion and the woman at the bus stop hasn’t been seen in over a week and I’m worried she’s been hurt but I’m being very brave about it. She used to tell me God don’t like ugly but I have felt very ugly since false promises of soup. I know I am a coward but I will tell myself Godliness is washed away with conviction in my throat. My socks will not stay where I need them to and my hands are shaking but I’m being very brave about it. I mistook the man across the street for my own sha- dow and I ran out of purple paint and my heart feels as if it will fall from my chest but I’m being very brave about it. I want to cry so badly. I’m being as brave as I can.

— ODH