By Anastasia Simms

Sometimes I feel empty, unfed.

I want someone to inject warmth into my torso.

I hope to be free. 

Sometimes I feel electricity singe the underside 

of my skin. 

I want someone to absorb the consequences 

of my unfettered explosion. 

I hope to plant roots and brave the cold. 

Sometimes I feel the universe press down 

on my chest 

trying to let the last of the air out 

so it can roll me up like a plastic mattress

and stick me under the coats in the back closet, 

but I don’t want to go. 

I want someone to melt me like butter 

and lie there 

shapeless and golden and warm. 

God, I want to be warm. 

God, I want to be the smell of smoke that 

clings to your favorite flannel by the campfire and 

basks in the flickering light. 

I hope I don’t fuck it all up. 

I hope my brother sticks around long enough

to see us both get better. 

I hope to end my days the way today started,

warm beneath a blanket 

lying in the sweet pause that happens 

when God takes a breath before speaking.

I hope 

I hope 

I hope… 

I hope to be whole and full forever.

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