low lights

I’m not sure I’m homesick
so much as starved for a place
that I’ve never known
I’m cherub faced like them
I guess
but not so much stone
too much blood and guts
and hair and muck
In CVS yesterday a lady
followed me around the store
I had a book bag on
and an apple watch
but I still looked “ready to
stole”
at work I’m always smiling
always grinning
tongue pressed up against
the ceiling
weird muscle to flex
but that’s all I know
at night I grind my teeth
and clench my fist inside
my thighs and
I think about Prague a lot
the bridge and the absinthe
and the cartwheels on the Petřín
that might’ve been real freedom
I think.
I watch my movie in a loop
and think of the low-lights
in the storms
the islands made me
this loud
you know
too much sun
and salt water
swallowed and up
my nose
– Sheila C.
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fuzz

I felt a fuzz

not in my head

not like the fuzz of heat

in the summer with the hot swell

rising from the concrete

but a literal fuzz

I see him crawling

up my arm

and inching

closer to my head

years ago,

I would’ve killed him

i was fresh

i didn’t understand life

it’s no excuse

i feel it now

i place a fork near him

and watch him crawl onto it

sensing escape?

he is happy today

“okay fuzz” i say

god was kind today

– sheila c.

full

the glass in the backseat

has been clinking

for the past few hours

of gravel and flashes

a toast has been held for 3 state lines

I think I am losing my mind

my window is covered in dead bodies

and their wings

the sky is dripping into the forest

and I am attempting to collect drops

I want to fill myself with the trees

I want to be the straw-man of this place

I want to open the door

stretch out my bones

and slide into green

– sheila c.

baby

when you sprang forth from her

did you have any idea

that your embattled mass

would be the proud flesh

she would hold in her arms?

that your life

was tied to her life?

that her life

was your life ?

that she like our sisters

all bleed in their beds

because all of our beds

are the same

and we will always

bleed in them

some of us

more than others

but we will always bleed

in them

there is with your breath

a battle cry

one that she labored for

that she pushed out

for your strength

baby, you were not born

you were birthed

and so on

and so on

– Sheila C.