in my 

brain is an

old  junk drawer

wires with the depths

 heights next to the batteries

all the lives I have lived half asleep 

all the couches I’ve dreamt of sleeping on

Do others think this deep beneath the manuals?

Do their fingertips scrape this place I’m trapped in?

Have they taken up space in a state they’ve never been to?

Have they already planned a foreign life from two decisions ago?

Are they thinking of every vein of reality they could’ve known while

still painfully aware it will always be a life  they will  never ever know? 

Do they wake up at peace with what was easy, to die where they were born

or do they feel as stuck as me in a world that’s  not opening the drawer?

And if they don’t, why am I the only one who was  sculpted pondering?

If  they do, why do I never seem to find them when I need them?

Do they feel as forgotten and if not is it because they wake up 

on their birthdays to being seen,  celebrated for existing?

Perhaps when  I’m thinking about the rubber bands

paper clips, receipts from Valvoline, mouse shit

it is just because what else is there?

Because when you feel missed

you will forget to think of

remembering (me)

You will just

forget