ON THE SURFACE

I allow the world its assumptions;
how easy it is to describe me
as careless,
a page torn from a book
that doesn’t burn

You see me waiting for the kettle to boil
and you don’t notice that
I wear my skin like a rented suit,
with the fear that one shrug
will cause me to unravel

Ghost fingers at my throat,
nightmares alive and well,
and when you ask how I am
I’ll tell you that I’m alive and kicking,
still unsure if I say that
with victory or defeat