i have grown accustomed to looking down
when i walk.
the warnings from my childhood, my mom's voice engraved in my head to not be stupid.
for christ sake you're the clutz of the family malia, dont you ever forget it.
i haven't forgotten it, the constant slip ups not just on the uneven crack of a sidewalk, begging for the unfocused to trip.
when i scream at the sound of birds chirping outside my window,
yelling a language so loud i cannot understand them or the thoughts running through my head,
trying to recall how to count from one to two hundred.
two hundred numbers, two hundred seconds.
i fold the pillow over my head, attempting the myth that it will silence any sound simply pissing me off.
but the myth does not work,
and i cannot turn off my mind.
word after word,
number after number,
i talk and i count,
out loud to the darkness wallowing me whole.
seeking the vulnerability of my shake and of my shiver.
i walk with my head lowered,
hoping to escape the awkward stares of people wondering why i look so damn tired today.
i can barely explain what happened at 1 am when i couldn't drift my way into my safe haven,
indulged in my pillow and blankets and dreams.
so i walk with my head lowered,
trained to hear footsteps knowing when to move over and when to stay in my lane.
people will move for me so why bother?
i memorize the steps of ones who are retreating or approaching.
the sound waves of their shoes hitting the pavement, the gravel getting stuck in the grooves of their shoes.
the thump of some,
the faint of others.
i walk with my head down, subdued from my own self.
i walk with my head lowered, scared to face the life that engulfs me.
i walk with my head down, tired of holding my heavy head high.
i walk with my head lowered, dreary my footsteps lay.
-m
