a paradoxical, parenthetical thought drifts between the
spokes of the large metal fan in my bedroom and lands
on a pillow, where my dog rests her curly-haired head:
i want to be known. my heart pounds against the semi-
indestructible walls i very carefully constructed so many
years ago. i would let it out, except i tried that once or
twice before and now i live in extended panic of what
could happen IF. i’ve weighed the options before and
the possibility of a naked inner self always outweighs…
what, exactly? a new friend? an exaggerated sense of
self-worth? love? maybe none of this, maybe all of it.
maybe i’ll just keep my heart to myself and leave the
deconstructing to the brave, concave ones. i’ll be alone.
