I feel my breath sink into my body. An exhale of my grief.

I feel all the stages in one breath.

I feel nothing and everything.

I feel outside of myself while too deep within.

I feel outraged at injustice.

I feel my thighs go cold while my hands shake.

I feel the silence of dialogue when I simply have too much to say.

I feel my poetry fill my veins to keep me alive and sane.

I feel the melancholy days where my hope has been replaced with shame.

I feel my body freeze when I come face to face with the man who mistook my body for his property.

I feel the tears slide ever so gently down my cheek with no warning. They’re just here.

I feel my throat close after I surrender my words to paint.

I feel stagnant in this trauma. Where do I go when I am still stuck in that room?

I feel.

I feel.

I feel.