Yesterday, the belt-loops looked beautiful. They were round like eyes staring up at me with silent animosity, dragging me down hallways of other belts and how each has a metal pin to hold all the rest in place; completing the cycle of holding up pockets and tightening faces. The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I tied the knot stronger. The leather would not comply, the hurt would not subside, but the anguish and the feelings remained there. Stuck fast as backs to roller-coaster tracks on seats designed for fun. The belt-loops pressed to my neck and the pin dangling without an eye to puncture, I tried. The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I tied the knot tighter. I stretched back on heels buried in a foot of clothing to know how it would feel when my knees finally buckled and Sunkist fangs sank in the days where summer was not a memory.
The bar above my hanging clothes wasn’t strong enough, so I blamed it for not being the only thing between me and society. As if windows envied the taste of having each six rows over six more columns and the jails seemed to howl for them at night, when all I could think of was maybe I will. The bar above my hanging clothes wasn't strong enough, so I crimped my voice and I waited out the dark aftermath of what…
What is wrong with me? I tightened the knot and left the belt-loops without metal pins to hold them in place and pockets to fall down. And buckled my knees did, but not after I untied the leather from my neck, and held out a hand to God who was not there.
And I said,
What is wrong with me?