I'm not a Machine

alarm blares

again

my hand slaps it silent like i’ve slapped down every dumb hope this week

roll over

stare at the ceiling crack that looks like a question mark

is this it?

is this really it?

scroll through job apps that want “rockstars” who “hustle”

while my brain feels like wet cardboard

my body a bag of loose screws and expired coupons

breathe in

breathe out

pretend the lump in my throat’s just allergies

but then—

something in my sternum pops

not a snap—a unfolding

like my ribs were never bones but folded wings dipped in concrete

and the concrete’s cracking

crack crack crack

not pretty

not graceful

just loud

my spine straightens on its own like it’s done asking permission

and suddenly i’m not in this bed anymore

i’m the static between radio stations

i’m the screech of a subway door forcing itself open

i’m screaming into the drywall and the drywall screams back

you thought you were small?

you thought rent and rejection could shrink you forever?

my pulse is a drumline in my ears

my feet hit the floor like they mean it

and the window’s open even though i didn’t open it

wind rushing in like it’s been waiting

let’s go

let’s go

let’s go