My heart sprints
as if the starting gun has fired
And I never agreed to run.

My eyes glisten
a storm gathering
that never breaks.

It’s the unknown
That shakes me,
the shadow that grows taller
When I turn away.

Anger sleeps in me,
a beast curled in the dark,
but sometimes it rises,
a dictator pounding its fist
against the walls of my ribs.

I breathe deep,
holding back the words
that could scorch the air.
So far,
The fire stays contained.

Inside me,
a maze of hurt twists and folds,
hidden from the world
and sometimes
even from myself.

My hands tremble.
My chest tightens.
I drift in and out of myself,
unsure if I’m standing
in the right place
or if the ground has shifted
without warning.

When voices rise,
Fear freezes me
a sudden winter
in my bones.
I don’t want to shut down,
But I fear
The door has already closed.

There are moments in my life
that slips through my fingers,
And I wonder
why memory chooses
to dim its lights.

I fear the gaze of others
on my self-expression
Is this what they call a mask?
A costume stitched
from insecurity,
from fabric that sometimes feels
like spiders crawling
across my skin.

I steady my breath again.
So far,
It keeps me anchored.

My cheeks burn.
My hands are ice.
I want to close my eyes
and drift into a dream
one where I rise,
unbound,
spirited,
and free.