by DBLevin

In between these whitewashed walls
people teem, uncomfortably
like bees placed suddenly
into an artificial hive

Here we dance in an attempt to speak
but mostly just stand awkwardly
wondering if we would feel the same
if we were back in the places where we were raised

We sting each other unintentionally
while passing in the street
and believe we’re each alone in feeling
the same old static
tacitly shocking our brains into change

Sometimes I try my best to leave
this self-inflicted state of being
and in those moments I feel the grip
of a subtle fist
coarse nails and blistering skin
hidden within the sleepiness of smoke
silently keeping me
from ever understanding
what happiness might be