the red lines and the red static
in my head, jibber to each other
body and mind
they speak with language i used to
think in, before
my first word
by doing this,
they strand themselves
further from each other
until my head is a bobbing balloon
tethered to my body by a long string
i speak in hisses and gusts of air
people can hear but not understand
they now know all my tricks and I sought refuge in the quiet a long time ago
in that stale place,
i decided to gather my bones that people had strewn against the room
(because you can't bend bones)
and a splinter of metal
and pull myself together
i'm trying to stop thinking of the facets and pockets of myself
as separate
so me, I, her, she, you, them, victim, blamed, splinter of metal,
are gathering together
all people are already something smooth and simple
masquerading in a heavy patchwork of preferences and circumstance.
i am lined where different pieces of myself meet
but i am confident i can smooth them out

i am
I.