I’ve lived on the second floor
of someplace or another since 20, 10 and 4
Each day, I would find myself traversing the stairs to the outside world
Running halfway down in a dream, body hurled,
only to notice my near-sightedness
and rewinding
just to miss the bus
an ever-transpiring malady
to retrieve my glasses or my keys
before the door slams shut behind me
And at night I’d twist one big toe in a semi-circle in front of me
finding my way in the dark
practicing ballet
Doing pirouettes for the fool moon

I didn’t really consider the utility of stairs until
I couldn’t take a step on my own and my broken foot swelled
Suddenly, my ankle refused to support me through this transitory space
between the places
that held my life
I crawled from the bed excited to use the bathroom
so I could see a different color paint, I tried to escape,
In my bed, I would dream of Scotty beaming me up and out
anywhere, but this sinkhole my body had dug into the mattress
Stuck like a cold tile in grout

Ask me where I go when I can’t
When there’s nowhere left to hide
I tunnel inside of myself, out of rebuttals to delay
Pulling back the sheets I’d thrown over the furniture of my truth
to keep it from getting dusty while I was away
Sweeping out the cobwebs
Recycling the beer cans
And moving back into the heart I had left lonely
My spirit suddenly and boldly
thankful for that moment when I fell
down and went boom
so I could make the room
to begin to see
that there’s always been more waiting for me
casting off the illusion that this was accidental
Depression and seclusion kept me hurting and distant
From my best version
I’m unearthly and my birth anointed by the sun
appointed by a jinn nonchalantly looking up from a newspaper to say,
“Welcome in. I have been waiting for you. What do you wish?”

I want to learn to walk before I run