Come here.
Sit at the foot of my bed.
The walls are strong,
and it’s quiet here.
You can breathe.

Because, I hear,
that you hardly get
enough air
these days,
and your poor chest
is breaking
for breath.

So just come here
a moment,
sit at the foot of my bed,
and breathe.


Even if your days
way down at a ton each
upon your head,
demanding more than
the child inside of you
ever guessed
they could.

has to be more common
than success,
especially for you,
for air,
as I’ve heard,
and as I’ve done

But we need to breathe.

Come here.

Lay down at the foot of my bed.

These walls are strong
and if you want,
I’ll lock the door,
pull the curtains
over the windows
and throw out
your phone,
my phone,
all phones.

Please, come here.
Be near.
You don’t have to say
a single word,
or even look my way.
You can stare at the ceiling
all day.
Just spread your arms

and breathe.

Because I need someone
to show me
how to do it

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