Local Girl Missing

there’s a joke that the inside of your skin is wet and warm

meant to breed disgust, desire to pull it back and stare at the gore

womb-like, your origin story

but all i feel in here is cold, detached, devastation

a land mass flayed by grief

“the only way out is through” but i’m treading water thicker than blood

pulling at my heels with every step forward

fractured consciousness. am i here? can you reach me? fingers tapping on glass

i inhabit this vessel, no intention to leave it

but the lights are off in this house

(you once called me your lighthouse, draped in fog born of hesitation)

i feel for surfaces on instinct - kitchen table, bathroom sink, keys to the car

what if i never feel like a home again?

post my milk carton picture

see if i come back a lover or a fighter