Jessi Levine

i’m becoming more comfortable with these walls. their chorus sings me to sleep.

in the corner, the plaster crack grows longer as the humidity grows higher. a sort of timeline written in imperfection.

cobwebs don’t form because i don’t let them. they have no place here.

the dog dances through his life, a player on a stage, unaware of much outside of these walls.

i imagine all that they’ve seen.

i’m more comfortable with that, too.

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one:

i hear a yes

but you breathe “no”

it knocks me out

two:

you’ve got the music in you] the notes i can’t play] distracting dissonance

three:

there’s a place on my skin that feels too perfect

this is where i offer to meet you. this is where we destroy me

four:

the fuck you give fucks with your honor

five:

i know this well

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today, i shook you out of my hair,

screamed you out of my lungs

and

expelled you from my body —

the one you never taught me to love.

the one you couldn’t love if it didn’t raise its hands in adoration of your savior

the one you couldn’t look at last week

the one you created.

i shook all of you out of me and looked down at my body

the one i’m learning to love with grace and kindness

and for the first time,

the weight i carry

didn’t feel so heavy.

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Jessi Levine

Jessi Levine

Creative Director. Writer. Part-time poet. Think backwards. Smash some things together. Make it happen. Go.