(but deep)

I cower like a child behind I'msorry, (spilled juice) it wasn’t me screaming until 2 a.m. in an empty room, in an even emptier head, full of
unchecked ToDos and a blinking curser who mutters “I think”
therefore I feel too much and
take hyperheavy steps like an amateur human, racing to whatever end shakes my hand first
I’ll settle, later I’ll wish for sooner and learn that underneath anything isn’t understanding someone, missed somethings are just reminders of growing nothings, and words unwrapped are misshapen boxes, letters just extra crayons, outside the line acts of kindness are just as rare as unprompted creativity or raptors walking (not running) down main street.
I’ve turned automatically to the division of myself, evenly, forcing portions on street corners, stashing underneath windshield wipers
regifting free, which isn’t always desirable
taking hits, dragged but never touched
scared of things growing (inside) and dying (outside) and things that crawl (inside and outside),
jumping shadows of legs and eyes, I have no sympathy for the spider
as I plead for the courtesy to not be crushed beneath a bare hand on a even barer wall, hypocritical guts
walls covered with notes of beginnings, replaced by better beginnings with the same fate as the first, it’s all whatwasIthinking trash
that I hoard greedily, nests of papercut traps and my insides (never really outsides) smeared across notes and notebooks
always starting something, you can’t ever entirely finish with people
hate magnifies importance and indifference sloppily erases
the shallowest of footprints
which I hope I’m leaving everywhere (but deep).
The deeper I look into the time I waste and the time I will waste worrying
wasting brainless hours (not wasted and brainless) of subconscious ticking and surreal toil with a chattering mind and restless legs.
I’m still learning to walk.