Lying on the bed, arms and legs up

Knees bent, like a bug

I scan the ceiling; peeling paint

Cobwebs in the corner,

I pump my legs, dying, not dead

In this back brace that it perfect

For the exoskeleton

of a bug. Inside it

I feel my stomach muscles

Tighten. I think about cracking out.

Is every strength gained

from vulnerability? From wanting?

Wingless, half my body relearning

How a bug must feel, lying

on its back

Legs and arms in the air,

at the mercy

Of anything or anyone. 

Jks, January 2025