I have been begging my name back from the five year long night for hours now.
I have begged it back from bottles, from ashes, from plastic wrappers and the mouths of men whose names I don't know and whose numbers I've lost, from pictures misplaced.
No one should ever own this many books, this much eyeliner, this many shoes that aren't going anywhere- have been nowhere.
Is this post-trauma? I have walked from car wrecks, diving wells, runways and woods. I have sat on train platforms raised above the scar of my hometown and said Jump. Stared at the beams of my basement and said GodamnIt.
Who who who is the the way and where where where is his name.
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