thousand old-me's

You fell through doorways, you looked for doors
I could not open,

but wanted to anyway. My heart tore through my skin
biting the film and spitting out bolts to gain a new ability.
To knock on metal windows, with chapped arms
stretching, to cover the whole of them,
to cover the best of them,
to fill in the gaps between our germs.

I am the most raw I have ever been,
because of you, I am not only hanging dresses in wardrobes --
but a thousand old-me's with callus shoulders
and stumps for legs.

I rubbed cream on the rash, the blistered blood clots, the polka-dots,
this is an attempt to outgrow this complex combination of thoughts.
I try to press the correct buttons
and push nerve endings through the static,

I clawed on them, tight and distressing.
I did not mean to hear so close to your processes,
but did anyway.

I am still here, ajar, but my coughs just sink
into the walls.