caught in some state that is halfway
between dysphoric and dissociative
brought upon myself by misplaced words
and wrong angles
this body is not mine
but it keeps me twisted too tight, too close
trapped, wrapped around myself
onlookers who cannot find less curves and a sharper line
panicked, fluttery, halfway there sobs that cannot escape
contained in a set of lungs that have been bound too tight
bruised ribs and red-rimmed eyes
contain those cries when you run too fast, too long, even though it's unsafe
find solace in lies and voices that are halfway between yours and someone else's
this is not right
this is not right
