Growing Pains

I grew up climbing trees and playing in creeks and measuring how good a day was by how long it took me to wash my feet before getting into bed

I haven't been barefoot in three


And yeah, it's starting to get to me

I used to collect things that shone from the street

A railroad tie


Coins and bolts and pieces of wire

I would fill my hands with their pretty weight

And I am still no good at letting go of things

But now I carry the sound of tires in my spine

And half herd conversations behind both ears

Trash bags line my ribcage

And the buildings, though beautiful

Are taking up my entire left leg

Coffee cups, left turns, and rush hour push against the inside of my skin until even my palms are sweaty with the strain of holding everything around me