Feeling scared.
Iām scared of Whole Foods. Iām scared of claustrophobia and of wide open spaces. Iām scared of kneeling on the floor, scared of bleeding and of bruises. Iām scared of research and of door latches and locksmiths and their drills. Iām scared of all the days of the week except for Thursday. At least I used to be before Thursday came and smiled and showed me her claws too. Iām scared of islands and of mountains and of soft sand beaches. Iām scared of trails and of highways and homesteads and high rises. Iām scared of plastic and of metal and shoepolish and crayola tempura paint. Iām scared of sugar and of lemons and plates that spark in the microwave. We used to eat off of Elvisās face, serve salad on The Kiss, used to kiss on the couch but Iām scared of that too now. Iām scared of factories and farms, greenhouses and your little fire escape. Scared of pencils and switchblades and feather boas, feather dusters. I never knew I was allergic to dust until a week ago when they took my blood and spun it twelve times fast.
