Leaving parties without a word. 

Leaving bars without telling my friends where I’m going.

Chewing on reckless and stupid as I say, 

Another shot of tequila, please. 

In the morning, I watch my brother squeeze a smoothie

until bits of fruit drip onto his hand, and I wonder 

why my family walks with resentment

hooded around them. 

Why I am still digging problems that arose

six years ago out of my thighs. 

What I want is a womb of silence.

The quiet of a place where I don’t exist.

I want to wrap myself in the stillness of it,

let it work its way into my ears,

and cover whatever’s 

inside of me. 

Quiet game starting now.

Whoever breathes first loses.