My ankles, are, I don't know,
so much more sore, than any sore I've ever known,
broken, maybe, in little pressure breaks, like
you dancers and jocks seem so sure about,
so glib in hindsight, like medals, like yeah,
like to brag about, compare about,
like I hate. Like, I've avoided for this reason,
because fuck this. I was skinny and active before
this. So, take your little challenges and carb
whatevers, and put them in a hospital file
with all the other things that hurt, and, if you
can bend, have a seat, let me regale you with,
how now, as I write this, my belly hangs over my
belt, and my ankles wrapped in gauze, and, unrelated,
my haircut is busted, and I screamed at the mirror
today, and broke part of it, and maybe, things, are,
spiraling,
a little bit, out of control.
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