Sky was my first word. I spoke a string of words: see sky, see trees. My mother held me. When I broke my clavicle she said, you are good with pain. When my appendix grew hot, good with pain. This must have been a relief for her. That I could bear things. She survived almost drowning twice. I don’t know what it feels like to almost drown but maybe I do. I talk to myself in public places. I talk to myself in my bed at night and sometimes in the morning.
I whisper, I hate - - - - - - - - - - and, I wish - - - - - - - - - - and, I’m so - - - - - - - - - - . This is to say my body cannot hold certain things and I speak demons into air to try and purge them but sometimes it gets worse. I can crawl into very small spaces but then I don’t feel like I’m going to live. Once, in a hospital bed, after they removed my appendix, there was a man who hovered. He said nothing. His smell was funny. I do not remember. I was sick in a hospital bed. I showed off for my friends. Then there were times I ran
and ran
and ran.