Don't worry, you won't feel a thing.
This is the first time I've shared this with anyone, and if there's something breathless about me, that's the nervousness slipping in. You see, I'm up against the wall of my shy nature. It's all right to express something in conversation, but poems dig deeper, it's a language I learned to be more honest in all those times that small talk wasn't big enough. This is my berserkerpoetry, something to cut to the quick.

–  Don't worry, you won't feel a thing.  –

my brother's knuckles
rap the walls like rolling thunder
and my sister's dreams may drag her under
in neon lights and neon shadows
of dirty fights and sudden showers
I never dream, I'm not prophetic
my moments come
in sectional seconds
my memories are movies
beneath moonlit minutes
and my spirit wears a pair
of dark sunglasses

I'm just what I seem
flesh, water, air
and my life is a
neverending stream
of "you gotta start somewhere"
I'm face to face with the city
all gritty and pretty
and I'm giving my blood
to the ethics committee
your shoulders grow tired
but I carry no one but me
through my metropolis of self-pity

a good time was had by all
so friendly fire, heed the call
of sudden stops
from sudden falls
and whispers heard
down hallowed halls
we learn to breathe
we try to talk, we're taught to sing
but keep down low, my lover lost
(and don't worry)
you won't feel a thing

...

March 27, 2017
Beaconsfield, Nova Scotia