a breath.

Hands are shaking and somehow, after years of practice
I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Two twin birds are chasing each other around my belly, one
is called freedom and she is rose-gold-two-tone-cannot-stand-to-be-alone feathers round her dreams. The other,
his name is doubt and he is the color of the sea at storm, not the same shade for a second, constantly changing and moving and trying to escape.
The two are so alike that
were you color blind
you could not tell them apart but I can hear them
singing from my belly
sweet scent of time undone, undid
freedom trying to stop doubt from fleeing, from molting his wings and ceasing to fly.
She wins.

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