In Here

Nestled in this polygonal
The walls are a familiar yellow
The window looks out to a familiar blue

In here
The folds on the top of my hands multiply

I manage each tick
Filling the space in-between with affirmations
It feels good

In here
The grooves on my palms sink deeper

You are black and white
With four corners
I’m a spear
Ready to attack any tangential point

I’m not scared
I’ll walk this plane alone
Keep tally of anyone who gets in my way
And wear the number like a badge

In here
My hands are folded

Sometimes I’m drawn to the light from my window
Cautiously, I see myself through the door
The sky is a bright blue
The sun radiates new yellows
My hands are warm and open

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