(eleven weeks)

it's familiar --
this breathless feeling -- when i'm standing in the naked safety of shower
and the water pounds a frantic, stammering
rhythm against my chest
and i can't feel my own heartbeat.

it's like i'm missing out on something good.

i'm a sappy, hopeless romantic.
it comes with baggage full of self pity
and waiting
and the feeling that this series of expectations
made by the people who are supposed to want the best for us
-- this thing we call "life" -- is so much easier for everyone else.

i'm tired of these eleven weeks of nothing.

round and round the calloused peach-brown feet
pound a dirt circle in the back of my mind.

it is a path that i have not been able to stray from for months;
this dizzy feeling is making
me more and more impatient.

i cannot stop myself
from just walking along the battered
edge of the dirt circle
or standing in the shower
or telling myself how it's easier
for them
or waiting.