Little mind, are you afraid to grow inside? Do you laugh at my world? If it were that our places were reversed would you refuse to emerge? I’m rationing my breaths again. I pray that I don’t breath you in and swallow you whole. I’ve been biting off my tongue. I coughed it up and watched it jump into a deep hole. Fighting with the need to wish for the fall when all I’ve done is planted seeds. Digging for what I can’t see. Pull till my roots break. How could I pretend to balance the shift? And if my legs got to the end, how could I begin again? Hungry for the ache. I thought you would be crying for a hand but when I close my mouth I see it’s not you that’s reaching. It’s not you reaching for me.